


Just A Little Insight

by random_flores



Category: Popular (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-01
Updated: 2012-11-26
Packaged: 2017-11-17 13:12:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 89,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/551933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/random_flores/pseuds/random_flores
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was the sharp realization, sitting at that dinner table, as soon as Harrison had chosen her and Sam's eyes welled up with tears, that for all her protestations of sisterly love to the world about Sam, she was incredibly, hopelessly, desperately, IN love with her. There was enough difference in that statement to completely destroy any sense of stability she had.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue & Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place after the S2 finale.

 

**Prologue  
**

In certain moments of extreme generosity, clarity, or sappy sentiment, Brooke McQueen would admit to herself that having Sam forced into her life had actually changed her for the better. 

When she was at her worst, having a bad day, or completely livid because somehow Sam had managed to wipe half of her MP3's off of her IPOD, she would declare to the world that Sam McPherson had ruined her life. 

There were two sets of extremes, both equally volatile and utterly sincere, and at first, Brooke had some trouble reconciling them. 

Lying in a hospital bed, in the groggy sort of dispirits that came from spending two months in a coma because she had been run down by her best friend trying to murder her, Brooke had time to contemplate them both. 

She remembered a tenuous truce struck, a hesitant sense of euphoria that came with that freedom, secret smiles and laughter in the midst of that whole mess with Harrison. She remembered admitting to herself that she loved Sam, and somehow shifting loyalties from blonde to brunette. She remembered a fight with Nicole for the sake of Sam, and it was never a question of choosing, just a question of when Nicole had pushed her enough. She remembered the line in the sand, drawn because Nicole had chosen to hurt Sam just when Brooke understood that she loved her. 

It was because of Sam that she walked away from Harrison that night. Because of Sam that she realized she didn't CARE that Harrison had chosen her, that all she really cared about was the fact that Sam had tears in her eyes, and none of it was what Brooke wanted.

It was because of Sam that Nicole's headlights came burning down on her, and two months of her life were eaten away. 

\--

"I brought you something," Sam said, a forced cheerfulness in her voice that sounded fake and contrived. She cringed inside, just hearing it, and she hated that she couldn't help herself. The sight of Brooke, brown roots over taking the long blond strands that lay listlessly around the angular face, face sallow and tired and so... spiritless, brought out the inner cheerleader Sam had been horrified to discover that she had. 

Brooke didn't even lift an eyebrow, turning her head from the blaring TV to watch her come into the room. "Hi," she said. "Is school over already?" 

Sam paused, taking a moment to glance at blinds purposely closed, shutting out the sun intentionally. "It's a little dark in here," she said pointedly.

Brooke glanced at the blinds, then back at Sam. "The light was hurting my eyes." Her tone was even, almost annoyed. 

Sam kept her place in the doorway, and made herself take a deep breath in. "Okay, but I think a little light would be good in here." 

"It's a hospital room, Sam, not a spa."

"True," she acquiesced, "but I know he might appreciate it," Sam responded, and produced a little betta in a huge champagne glass. "His name is Little Bleu," she continued, coming forward with the little fish, swimming around in the swishing water with rapidly flickering velvety blue green fins. "Not B-L-U-E, but B-L-E-U. What do you think?"

"You got me a fish?" Brooke asked, in a tone that made it impossible to determine whether or not it was welcome. 

Sam made a dramatic roll of her eyes. "No, blockhead, not just any fish. This is Little Bleu! He's a fighter. He's scrappy. And beautiful. Just like you." She offered a nervous smile before continuing, "And you don't have to worry about feeding him or changing the water, because I will be here every day to do that. He's pretty!" She finished her sales pitch with a little hop and a wave of her hands, positioning the little betta on the stand right next to her bed. 

It was a struggle, to deal with this new Brooke, just when she had finally made her peace with the old one, but Sam had never been one to back away from a challenge. She had challenged Brooke before, back when she had decided she hated her, and had pretty much done every damned thing she could do to make that the case. While her currently resolution was decidedly the opposite, Sam's resolve was no less distinct. Post Coma Brooke was different, but it wasn't her fault. Sam was pretty sure if she had been mowed down by her best friend on prom night and left in a coma during the entire summer she'd be a bitch on wheels too. 

"Sam... I..." Brooke seemed to finally give up on the television, at least, reaching up to flick it off with her remote. Her expression, however, looked more exasperated than anything else. "Thank you, but... "

"But what? It's cute! And he's smart. Okay? He swims around and when it's feeding time, he nearly has a cardiac arrest." When Brooke just stared, Sam blushed. "Trust me, it's cute." 

"What are you doing, Sam? You don't have to spend every day here." 

"I know I don't." Brooke's face was impossible to read. "Look, I brought your college apps that came in the mail," Sam continued, feeling oddly desperate as she began to shrug off her pack. "And Mike signed you up for the same day as me for the SATs...." 

"Sam-" 

"I figured we could study together-"

"Sam, stop. You're trying too hard." 

It was excruciating, and as the words came out of Brooke's mouth, Sam found herself slumping forward, rubbing long fingers into her eyes. "God, I know. It's pathetic." 

"Extremely," Brooke said, but not unkindly. 

"I don't know why," she said, fingers curling into her lap. Sinking onto the bed, she ran her tongue over her bottom lip, a nervous tick. "I'm not saying it was ever easy," she began suddenly, eyes darting up to stare into the crystal clear orbs of Brooke. "But even when it was hard... it wasn't like this." 

Brooke raised her knees to her chest, hugging them to her. "So why are you trying?" 

The question was startling. "Why aren't you?" 

Brooke's look was long, careful, and closed. With a small smile, she merely shrugged and looked away, reaching for the remote and turning away. "Thanks for the fish," she said, and with that, completely dismissed Sam. 

The ache that flared inside of her was something Sam would never forget. 

\-- 

Brooke would never know if Sam understood exactly what happened in her hospital room that day. Honestly, she wasn't quite sure she understood it herself. All she knew was that Sam was a source of conflict and extremes, and it wasn't something she wanted to handle, not when Sam was trying so hard to be a source of calm, and through no fault of her own, failing miserably. 

Cutting off whatever Sam was doing at the knees was what was best, and there was some relief that came from it. Brooke recovered at her own pace, now that Sam wasn't stopping in every day acting like her own personal misguided cheerleader. She studied in those long hours and learned the prep books that Sam had left behind backwards and forwards. When Harrison and Carmen and Lily and Josh came by she was polite and friendly, and when Mary Cherry stopped by with her tremendous story about her drag queen father and gangbanger sister, she really laughed for the first time in a while. She had a curious sedateness, and it suited her. 

It was when Sam was around that she really would feel, and for some reason, the reaction frightened her. Sam would stop by, but only with Mike and Jane, and when Brooke was finally allowed to go home, impossibly skinny and a complete brunette, she and Sam had unconsciously reached a different kind of truce. Sam was considerate, sweet and distant, and Brooke was the same. 

She didn't know if she blamed Sam for the accident, Brooke didn't want to be that closed minded or selfish. She didn't even know why she had chosen to freeze out Sam when she also missed her. There were moments when they would slip, both of them, either erupt in a horrible fight that would make Jane and her dad even crankier now because of little Mac, or fall into a moment where the veil of formality would slip and there would be a genuine smile, a genuine laugh, a minute second of sincere emotion. 

It would always happen when she wouldn't expect it, like the day she was sitting on the couch and Sam came in carrying little Mac against her shoulder, bouncing her nervously because Sam always was a little afraid of the baby. Brooke had only looked up for a second, but the image touched her in a way that had her suddenly staring, and when Sam caught her looking, her step sister did the one thing that disarmed her completely: she smiled. The rush of emotion that came to her surface was nearly painful, and it wasn't long before the comfortable intimacy became uncomfortable awkwardness, and Sam had exited stage right, leaving the stale quiet behind. 

In Brooke's room, Little Bleu swam around in circles, hiding among the soft bristles of the little fake plant Brooke had gotten on a whim. 

He was just a fish, but Brooke could admit that she loved him. 

\-- 

"Honey, are you sure you want to try and take that fish with you?" 

"Dad, I checked with the dorm. It's no problem. We're allowed to keep a small aquarium." 

"I know, honey, but you have enough here, why don't you leave it for now and when you get settled, you can pick up the fish." 

"It's not just a fish, Dad, I'm not leaving Little Bleu."

"I'm not saying you have to, just for the week." 

Sam hadn't meant to eavesdrop. She had only meant to stop in and say goodbye, before heading back to her room to figure out how the hell to stuff an entire wardrobe into three suitcases. Still, there was something in that angry lilt that Brooke had in her tone, an angry bit of emotion that made Sam take pause. When she walked in, she saw Brooke hugging the over-sized champagne glass against her chest, brown hair pulled away from her face to reveal a resolved expression. 

When they both glanced at her, she felt a little guilty, stepping back as if to ask permission. "Sorry, I was just ... coming to say good-bye." 

"It's fine," Mike said, hands on his hips, as if annoyed he was even being forced to argue over a fish. "Maybe you can try to talk some sense into Brooke, here-" 

"Mike, the stubborn apple does not fall far from the stubborn tree. You're not going to win this argument. Little Bleu goes." The smile she got from Brooke was the first real one she had seen in days. 

"Jane!" Mike tried, just as her mother swept in behind her. "About this fish-" 

"Mike, what do you have against the fish? It's Brooke's fish. She can take her fish." 

Sam grinned, and was suddenly rewarded with an armful of Mac. "Mom-" But her mother was already gone, followed by a suddenly grouchy Mike, who complained loudly about the women to men ratio in the house. 

"What's his problem?" Sam asked Mac, struggling to hold onto the slippery toddler as she tried to weave out of her grasp. "I think Daddy has a serious case of betta envy." 

It was only when Brooke chuckled that she realized her stepsister was still in the room. 

"So..." Sam began, licking her lips and coming forward with her acrobat little sis. "Need any help?" Brooke's bedroom was sparse now. An open luggage case sat on the perfectly made bed, and the little glass bowl that held Little Bleu was now next to an open zip lock bag, obviously being made ready for transport. 

"No, I think I'm all set. But thanks anyway." Brooke wore a smile that was hard to look away from, and formalities over with, Sam found herself struggling for words. 

"Brooke," she said finally. "I know we haven't really been close this year-" 

"Sam..." came the soft, whispy voice. "You don't have to-" 

"Yes, I do." The tears that sprang told her that, and she juggled Mackenzie and couldn't wipe at them as they stung. "I don't know what happened, Brooke, but I just... I need you to know that... that, for what it's worth, I-"

"Sam, please." Her vision was blurry, and still, her eyes shut tight when soft fingers began to wipe at the salty tears that stained her skin. "Your mascara." 

"I'm sorry," she whispered, a gentle ache. "I'm sorry that I made you hate me." 

"Oh, God, Sam... I don't hate you. I love you." Brooke's voice was rough, different than before, and Sam laughed pathetically, eyes opening to discover a pitying expression, a palm against her face. 

Between them, Mackenzie squirmed, and Sam shook her head. "Remember when you hated me? God, Brooke, one word and I would crack that mask you wore, and for a second, I would see the real you. I may have told myself I hated you, but... but at least that was real. And it made me feel real. And then... before the accident it was... even with the Harrison madness-" 

"Sam, you don't understand-" Brooke was so close now, eyes bright and moist, and it was more than Sam could bear, because she was sure Brooke pitied her now, and she still didn't know how it happened, why it happened. 

"You're right, I don't." Stumbling backwards, she moved away, from the look on Brooke's face, from the flaring pain in her chest, from all of it. "And I don't want to. I just wanted to say good-bye, and to tell you that... you forced me to take a look at myself, and made me realize, I wasn't who I wanted to be. You changed me, Brooke, and I'll never forget that. For that, I'm thanking you. Give Little Bleu a kiss for me." 

With a crooked smile, she carried Mac out of Brooke's room, and told herself she had said everything she needed to, and just like Brooke, she could move on. 

\-- 

Brooke dyed her hair blonde the first semester at USC. She rushed one of the sororities, and made it through the hazing even after she got snapped at for disagreeing a little too vocally about some of the more ridiculous demands placed on them by the sisters. 

She dated one of the linebackers, a blonde, surprisingly sensitive jock named Adam, and thanks to that, found herself in the crux of the social circle at one of the biggest football campuses in the nation. 

Her classes were large and somehow still intimate, and Rodeo Drive was only twenty minutes away. 

She emailed Sam, at her new Northwestern University address, and in it she tried hard to explain the twisted logic behind the falling apart of their sisterhood. She tried to explain what Sam meant to her, and how she struggled between extremes, and couldn't quite seem to let go of the bitterness that came with it, because what she was living now was everything Brooke had wanted to achieve when she was a starry eyed sixteen year old and it wasn't enough. 

What she wanted, she wrote Sam, was to feel again. To sit beside Sam like they did in chemistry and speak without speaking, with gestures and looks. To have that thrill she couldn't quite explain when she realized people were starting to see them as 'Sam and Brooke' and not just individual entities. She wanted the thrill that came with loving Sam, because Sam was beautiful and secure in herself, and Brooke came alive around her. 

And, she also wrote, she hated Sam a little for that. Because all this stuff that was all so interesting before Sam wasn't interesting at all, and Brooke had begun to realize that it was really all she had, and she was looking at the rest of her life being bored stiff, because it was what everyone expected and Brooke had gotten run over when she had tried to push against it. 

She wrote to Sam that it was wrong that Sam made her feel this way, because there was something twisted that her step sister was putting her through all this emotion, and sometimes it was easier not to feel. That was why she kept her at arms length, because the uncontrollable emotion that came from loving Sam nearly killed her. 

Literally.

She tried to explain that she didn't know what she wanted, or how to control it, and wouldn't know for a while and it was easier to shut her out completely, and she wanted to tell her that watching Sam break down with little Mac in her arms had stayed with her and buried deep down inside of her. 

She told Sam she was beautiful, that she had always thought so, and what she had really wanted was to forget Harrison and just go to prom with Sam. 

She wrote it all, and when it came time to send it, Brooke's own survival instinct kicked in, and she closed the window and didn't save the draft. Instead, she CC'D Sam on her email to her parents, and hated herself just a little bit. 

Little Bleu would get excited to see her, and wag his little tail when he saw her enter the room. Brooke knew there was a logical reason for it, he associated her with food, but she still smiled at him, talked to him, and forever branded herself as 'the Fish Chick' in her sorority because of her insane love for her betta. 

Jane called her a week before Thanksgiving break, asking her when she was driving the forty minutes it took to get home. She included some general updates, and when Brooke hesitantly asked what day Sam was getting there, got a quiet pause and a response that Sam wasn't going to be able to make it back until Christmas. 

Jane asked Brooke to call Sam, try and convince her to come back for the holiday, because Jane said she was sure the only reason Sam was staying away was because she was afraid, and if Brooke and Mike and Jane could only convince her that they were all perfectly fine with her being gay then maybe Sam wouldn't be so afraid of bringing her girlfriend home. 

Brooke had been so stunned she hadn't been able to make a sound, and Jane thought she had been hung up on. It had taken five minutes of phone tag and mortified apologies and explanations on both ends before Brooke could close her cell phone.

It wasn't until then that she realized she was shaking. 

**End Prologue**

**Part I. Step One. You Say We Need To Talk  
**

"You know, next time Sam decides to get you an animal, I'm going to ask her to get you something that's a little more portable."

Brooke smiled, wrapping fingers around the plastic bag that held the little blue betta fish, trying hard as she could to keep it from bobbing too much with the motions of the car.

"I don't think I'm very capable of taking care of much else," she told Jane, who smiled in response, turning the wheel as they bumped up into their driveway.

"Well, the way you take care of both Mac and Little Bleu, I seriously disagree with you." Jane shrugged, pulling the keys from the ignition. "At least I've got a chance of get grandkids from one of you."

Hesitating, Brooke hugged the plastic bag against her body, and turned her head as she watched Jane open the back door and begin fussing with Mac's car chair.

Little comments like that had a habit of flushing an icy chill into the pit of her stomach, and Brooke always told herself it was on behalf of Sam. As okay as Jane seemed to be with Sam's little bombshell, there had seemed to be a couple moments, where Brooke could see Sam's mother struggling.

"Jane," she tried, fumbling for the car door and trying to keep her fingers tied around the little bag that held Little Bleu and sling her backpack onto her shoulder at the same time. "You know, just because she's... gay, it doesn't mean that..."

Jane straightened, hoisting the baby onto her hip. Dressed for the cold, the toddler looked like an overstuffed teddy bear. She could barely move. Brooke smiled when the baby gave her a gummy grin.

"-there are ways," Brooke tried again, feeling her cheeks flush uncontrollably.

"I know," Jane answered, and had the graciousness to appear ashamed. "I'm okay with it, Brooke. Really, I am. I want Sam to be happy. But I can't help thinking that... you know Sam, she tries so hard to be different-"

"I don't think Sam would tell you about this if it really wasn't what she wanted," Brooke said carefully, retrieving Little Blue's champagne glass from the bottom of the seat, closing the car door with a careful nudge of her hips.

"Well, did you have any idea?" Fishing for her keys, Jane tossed her an inquisitive look. "Did she say anything to you?"

Responding with an awkward chuckle, Brooke averted her eyes, making sure not to squish her fish. Her smile was almost bitter. "Jane, you know how I found out."

It had been a slap in the face, to find out that her step sister was gay from her own step mother in a passing phone call. Not that Brooke expected a personalized coming out telegram, but for all their issues, Sam had started to trust her.

At least until the accident, and in those months that followed, Brooke knew she had no one but herself to blame for the disintegration.

But still, it stung. Especially considering...

"I know, but you two were getting close. I just hate to think that she had to figure this out on her own."

"You know Sam," Brooke mumbled, nodding her thank you as Jane held the door open. "Miss Independent."

"Well..." Jane sighed, and Mac let out a little baby giggle and a bubble as Jane plopped her on the counter, going to work on the zipper that held together the baby's enormous coat. "See if you can talk to her. Maybe... I don't know. There's only so much she can say to her mother. Maybe her sister..."

"I'm not... Okay," Brooke said, barely a whisper, somehow annoyed. When Jane looked at her, she shrugged, avoiding the questioning stare to look down at Little Bleu, who obviously seemed more than a little stressed with the current move. He gave a little flips in his water, little beading eyes staring up at her with a pathetic expression. "I better get him into some decent water."

"Okay, that's fine. Are you going with us to pick up Sam from the airport?"

Back unreasonably tense, she turned around and forced a smile. "You know, I think I'm going to unpack. I kinda... want to unwind, if that's okay."

"Of course that's fine, sweetie!" Jane's smile was kind, and not at all suspicious. "Oh, and Brooke?"

She pressed her mouth together, waiting in anxious silence.

"Welcome home, honey."

\--

Little Bleu swam in a gentle circle, happy to be back in his little home. Brooke could hardly say she felt the same.

Flat on her back, she morosely plugged her earphones into her ears and set the IPOD on high, eyes closing as the almost blistering loud music slammed into her brain.

She wasn't much of a brooder. Brooke preferred to be proactive, to actively solve her insecurities with solutions, or, in some cases, starvation. She had never been used to delving into her own psyche, instead wanting to take action, any action, to activate some sort of change. A semester in college had forced her to realize that everything she did was an effort to avoid her own thoughts, and she hated that feeling.

She also, coincidentally, hated freshman psych for putting that thought into her head.

It had taken a lot to become comfortable in her skin, and towards the end of junior year, Brooke thought she was on her way to getting there. A relapse of her eating disorder and Harrison's cancer withstanding, Brooke had things she had never had before: confidence in herself that wasn't founded in her own superficial appearance, an identity. She had friends that cared about her, and while she didn't have Harrison, she had Sam, her sister, who she was sure she loved.

Brooke hadn't wanted to think too much of her sexuality. While something had always been missing with Josh, she had really come to care about him, so much she didn't care about the sex. And with Harrison, it had been nice. There hadn't been much there in terms of attraction, but Brooke didn't want that anyhow. She wanted Harrison because he was sweet and kind and sensitive, and in a weird way, kinda of like a girl.

Brooke winced, forehead wrinkling together before she brought her fingers to her skin and forced herself to smooth it out.

That day they were all locked up in the Novak when Lily had admitted she was confused, it had felt almost liberating, to say it out loud. She had thought about it. She had flashes and images and caught herself staring too long at Nicole's breasts in the locker room and twice, had some very embarrassing dreams that involved Sam and being naked and woke up flushed and scared.

Of course she had said it quietly and only really Nicole had heard her, and Nicole didn't believe her, and after her moment of weakness, she was glad no one had. It was too much, too soon, too fast.

So she didn’t think about it. That fuzzy feeling that came with Sam was something she copped to being sisters, and throughout her sophomore and junior year, that became her constant. Yeah, her and Sam fought all the time, but there were moments where she could just stop and stare at Sam and suddenly be really, really happy that it was Sam sitting across from her at dinner, sitting on her bed, begging for help in chemistry because the Claw hated her, sprawled on the floor delivering their sister. She didn't have to hesitate to tell Sam that she thought she was beautiful, she could talk to Sam about sex and be gratified Sam was coming to HER, she could even bring up the idea of her and Harrison and Sam all going together to prom and it not being weird at all because they were sisters.

Everyone thought it was the coma and the accident that had changed Brooke, and to a point, it was true. But it wasn't just that.

It was the sharp realization, sitting at that dinner table, as soon as Harrison had chosen her and Sam's eyes welled up with tears, that for all her protestations of sisterly love to the world about Sam, she was incredibly, hopelessly, desperately, IN love with her.

There was enough difference in that statement to completely destroy any sense of stability she had. It was that moment that caused her to jump up from the table, to walk away from Sam. It had been her moment of panic, her overwhelming need to get away from Sam and her newfound feelings, that had blinded her to the oncoming car until it was too late.

Two months later, she had woken up in a hospital bed and nothing had changed and everything had changed. Nicole had gotten off with minimal punishment. Harrison was still there, waiting for his chance. Lily and Josh were still together and Carmen was now the most popular girl in school, with Mary Cherry as her sidekick. And Sam was there, in her hospital room, trying to be everything she could be and nothing Brooke wanted her to be.

It had taken a semester at USC to prove to Brooke that whatever she was doing, her little push to get back any sense of normalcy she could, wasn't working. That night wasn't going to go away, she knew, and it was more that ache in her hip that wouldn't go away on really chilly nights and her inability to try out for song girls because she didn't have the flexibility she used to. It was the fact that despite Brooke's attempts to move forward and forget everything, she was living in the past, and it was never more clear than now that she was the only one doing so, because Sam had clearly moved on, and not seen fit to tell her.

Now it was Christmas, and Brooke was hours away from seeing Sam again, and facing this, whatever it was, head on. It wouldn't be fair, she knew, to blame Sam for not loving her. It was already twisted, and she had hurt Sam, she knew, by not being the sister that Sam had wanted her to be.

Brooke hadn't been what Sam needed, not in that last year, and Sam had adjusted accordingly.

Eyes opening, Brooke stared up at the ceiling and considered her options. She could continue the polite freeze-out, until she couldn't take it anymore and react in the worst possible way, and she had the strong suspicion that would end up with another stint in her favorite place, the eating disorder wing at the hospital.

Rubbing her palm along her flat stomach, Brooke grimaced at just the thought. She wasn't going there again. She had promised herself.

She could also be an adult about this and admit that she had reacted badly and selfishly, and apologize to Sam and hope she could at least be friends with Sam again.

There was another option, once she didn't even want to think about, that involved the truth, and Brooke's heart throbbed at even the idea. Just because Sam liked girls didn’t mean she liked HER, and if Brooke even entertained that thought it would just get her into a really bad place.

No. Option two was the best idea. That decided, Brooke closed her eyes and let out a hot breath.

When her bed bobbed with an unseen weight, it had been completely unexpected. Heart jackknifing into her throat, Brooke's eyes jerked open and she nearly tumbled off of it, muffling a screech when she discovered a longer haired version of Sam staring down at her, cross-legged on the bed.

"SAM!!"

"Holy shit!" Sam said, nearly flailing off the bed at Brooke's violent reaction, ducking to avoid Brooke's long legs, swinging at her unintentionally as Brooke tried to right herself. "I'm sorry! I should have knocked!"

Hand pressed to her chest, Brooke blinked at her, jerking off her earphones to stare at the brunette. Cheek's still flushed from the cold, the other girl was now unraveling a scarf from around her neck, half perched on the bed.

"Sam," she said dumbly, too shocked to say anything else. "You're here."

"What a great observation," Sam answered dryly, and Brooke nearly rolled her eyes, trying to get her breathing down to normal. "My flight was early. Mom and Mike wanted me to come get you. We brought chicken." That said, Sam flashed her a shrug and a smile, and backed toward the door, scarf in her hand. Dark eyes flickered toward the bowl on her nightstand, and Sam offered the swimming fish a nod. "Lil' Bleu," she greeted, in her best 'Finding Nemo' impersonation, before heading out of Brooke's room as quickly as she came in.

Brooke stayed on the bed a second longer, trying to process the brief reintroduction of Sam into her life.

Shaking her head, she found herself chuckling oddly at the unconventionality of it.

With Sam, it wouldn't be any other way.

\--  


"So, do you girls have any big plans for the break?"

It was Jane's polite way of trying to engage the crowd into some sort of dinner conversation, interjecting the question as carefree as she could without trying to sound obnoxiously nosy.

Still, it made the chicken stick a little in the back of Brooke's throat, as she looked up and caught Sam fussing with her mashed potatoes, obviously not in the mood for any sort of chat.

Forcing down the lump of chicken, Brooke took in a small breath, and offered a small smile. "Well, there's a Christmas party that a couple of my sorority sisters who live in Laguna are throwing, but... nothing special." Sam could barely contain the roll of her eyes at the idea, and tongue pressed into the corner of her mouth, Brooke didn't elaborate.

Mike, in the middle of bouncing Mac on his lap, tried to look suitably interested. "That's nice. And you, Sam? Hanging with Carmen and Lily?"

Putting down her plastic fork, Sam also offered her own version of a strained smile. "Actually, um... Carmen's with Mary Cherry in the Alps, and Lily went to visit Josh's family, so... I don't really have a lot of plans. It's cool... I'll see if Harrison's doing anything and swing by the old record store and see if I can pick up some hours."

"Oh, you shouldn't have to work on your break!" Jane chided, and Brooke mentally agreed. "Sam, why don't you spend some time here? You weren't here for Thanksgiving, and it'll be nice to have you home."

"Mom, I... it's nice to be home, but... I'm trying to save up some cash to go to Florida for Spring Break with Rebecca...."

Rebecca. The name caused an awkward reaction, and Brooke found herself choking on her chicken.

"Brooke honey, are you all right?"

"Fine," she wheezed, and fumbled for her water, trying to hack up the lodged piece. "Just... went down the wrong tube," she managed, recovering. Everyone was staring at her, and Brooke felt oddly like she was putting on a performance. "Hey, Sam... I need to go pick up a few things tomorrow. You know, last minute Christmas shopping. Do you want to come with me?"

It was a dirty tactic, bringing it up in front of the parentals, and Brooke knew Sam didn't think much of it. Her expressive mouth turned downwards and she openly hesitated, shaking her head unwillingly.

"Brooke, I did all my Christmas shopping early for a reason..."

"Oh, come on, Sam! You should keep her company!"

"Yeah, Sam, why not? It'll be fun." Mike paused long enough to blow a raspberry on Mac's tummy. "That's my girl!"

"Dad, that's gross to do at the table," Brooke told him, and he gave her a wink in response. "Please, Sam? I'd like to spend some time with you."

Sam's eyebrow's narrowed suspiciously, but Brooke thankfully had the family on her side, and when Jane gave the unsociable one an arched eyebrow, Sam gave up with a fork thrown on her plate.

"Fine," she relented. "But if we're there more than three hours, I'm going to hurt you."

She couldn't help her small smug grin. "Fair enough," she said, and then eyed her chicken warily, not quite ready to dive back in. No wonder she stopped eating. She was really bad at it.

\--

Shallow as it was, Brooke was slightly relieved that Sam's coming out hadn't precipitated a full out dyke make over. Eyebrows were still plucked, foundation, the Bare Minerals Brooke had bought her for her last birthday, was still applied, and her hair was neither crew cut looking or looking at all like a boy.

In fact, Sam was as beautiful as ever, in her slightly tighter jeans and her casual fitted tee, hat squished over her head. The only real noticeable difference was a little less lipstick and a more natural shade of eyeshadow, and honestly, it only made her look better.

The scowl on her face, however, didn't add anything to the natural beauty Sam possessed, and Brooke had half a mind to tell her so, as they drove to the mall. In the passenger seat, Sam had her arms crossed, and she was looking everywhere but at Brooke.

"Thanks for coming," Brooke said, when Sam said nothing at all. "I wanted to catch up."

"So strong-arming me in front of the 'rents was the way to do it?" Apparently that still wasn't sitting well.

"Would you have come any other way?"

Sam finally looked at her, a half glance before glancing away. "Touche." Brooke smiled slightly, adjusting her glasses before turning on the signal light. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Of course," Brooke said, and took in a small, steadying breath. Option B was a commitment, and she found it easier than she thought it would be, to be as nice as she could, despite Sam's stares that made it clear she thought she had been lobotomized.

"What's with the Stepford act?" Brooke's mouth became a thin line. "I mean, I leave and you can barely look at me, and now, we're suddenly ..."

"Suddenly..." she repeated, when Sam paused.

"Just tell me what's gong on," Sam said flatly. "I'm not up for three weeks of this. It's not why I came home."

"Why did you come home?" Brooke asked, and nearly smacked herself for answering the question with a question. Somehow, it was still easier to deflect all of this, Option B be damned.

Clearly, Sam wasn't a fan of it either. Throwing her another glare, Sam settled further into her seat. "Because if I didn't Mom would kill me. And I wanted to see Mac."

"Oh." Brooke couldn't exactly hope for more than that.

"And you're avoiding the question."

"I know. I’m sorry." Turning into the mall parking lot, she tried to focus on finding a spot. "It's just... I had all these things I wanted to say to you, and ... I didn't exactly want to do it while I’m fighting some hummer for a compact spot..."

"It can't always be about what you want, Brooke."

"I know, I just..." Anxiety was building, and Brooke closed her eyes, suddenly incredibly frustrated. Slamming on the brakes, she jerked the car into park and turned to face the girl she was in love with. "Look, Sam, I know it's not enough. But I'm sorry. I'm sorry for shutting you out, and I'm sorry for hurting you. I should have been there for you and I wasn't, and I don't have any explanation for it, except that... prom night really messed me up."

Sam was staring at her like she had grown a second head, and it wasn't helping. Longing for a sudden sense of fogginess, Brooke tore off her glasses, and began to fiddle with them, now staring at her hands.

"I just... you were so nice, and I didn't... it was easier to push you away. But you're... I know I didn't act like it, but you were my best friend... not counting the one that ran me over." A hesitant glance up, she realized Sam was still just staring at her.

"You realize that you have about six cars behind you waiting to murder you right now, right?"

It was then that Brooke realized she had just stopped in the middle of a parking lane, in the midst of a cacophony of honking horns. "Oh, God..." Fumbling with the gear shift, she pressed on the gas. "Sorry, I just..."

"So why the change of heart?" Sam said quietly, watching when a car swung out from behind them and flipped them the bird.

Biting her lower lip, Brooke contemplated the own swelling emotion in her chest. She stayed quiet, simply driving, turning into another parking lane. "Do you remember when you came to me about George? You wanted him to be your first, and you came to me, and you asked me advice, and I showed you a porno." Her tone devolved into flat resignation at that last statement, and beside her, Sam snorted at the absurdity of it.

"Yeah," she heard. "That wasn't pretty."

"I loved that," she admitted. "That you came to me. That I could help you. It just... it made me so happy. And I guess, I just... when I found out from Jane that you were..." Her cheeks were burning, and she couldn't look at Sam, right then. "I couldn't believe that I hadn't been there for you. I hated myself for that."

A blanket of somber quiet settled in the car, and beside her Sam seemed to finally come to life, agitated sigh exhaling from her body before she turned in her seat, away from her.

"You didn't miss much," Sam muttered. "There wasn't much talk about it. It kinda just... happened. And you can say it. Gay."

"Gay," she repeated, as if trying to get used to it, the way it sounded on her tongue. "Gay."

"Gay," Sam said again. "Lesbian."

Coming to a pause, the car in front of them blinking their signal, obviously waiting for an exiting car, Brooke's own emotion seemed to rise and fall within her, leaving her curiously empty. Shifting, she stared at the beautiful girl in the car beside her, staring listelessly out of the window. "You know that I’m fine with it, right? That I ... love you..."

A bitter smile floated on Sam's list. "Thanks," she answered dryly. "That was my Christmas miracle. Acceptance from Brooky."

The car in front of her crawled into it's space, and she swallowed harshly, hands back on the wheel. "I wanted to be your first."

"You what?" The tone was odd, and Brooke forced down the choked emotion swelling inside of her.

"Your first," she repeated, and stared into startled dark eyes. "The first person you told." Sam only kept staring at her, and suddenly, she glanced away, sinking deeper into her seat. "But I'll settle for being your friend again. If you'll let me. I know the sister thing is... "

"Shot for now," Sam breathed flatly.

"I'll make it up to you, Sam. I promise." Her words were sincere, her resolve fierce, and knuckles tightened against the steering wheel, she didn't care about what was in front of her, only what was beside her.

Sam was quiet for the longest time, obviously waging some inner battle with herself, and Brooke's insides felt like they were wrapped in a coil, stretched paper thin.

"You've missed like, five open spots," Sam said finally, and pointed a finger toward the other lane. "Head over there before you miss another one or we'll be living in this stupid garage."

It wasn't an answer, but it was good enough, Brooke smiled gratefully and followed the pointing.

"Thanks," she said meaningfully. Sam glanced at her, and for one minute second, Brooke wanted to tell herself she saw tears.

"I needed to get something for Mac anyway," Sam said, non-committal. "Can we do lunch at In-N-Out? I've starved for it. No pun intended."

"Sure," Brooke said, weak with relief. It wasn't much of anything, but Sam had given her a small hint of a chance.

She might as well have given her the world.

**END CHAPTER ONE**

 


	2. Smile Politely Back At You

Brooke was absolutely positive that Sam was going to die from clogged arteries. 

There was no way around it, the way Sam would eat. As if the fries given to them weren't already salty enough, thanks to the packet of it that she had poured over her portion, Sam had to go and also pour a second packet directly into her ketchup. 

Wrapping fingers around her lettuce wrapped hamburger, Brooke couldn't hide her disgust. "Sam, you're going to have a heart attack when you're thirty." 

The warning didn't have the desired effect. Instead of being properly frightened at the possibility, Sam instead gave her a wicked grin, grabbing yet a third packet of salt and opening her burger, sprinkling it on her lettuce as well. "At least I'll go happy and salty. Is that all you're having?" 

Brooke stared down at her own meal. "What's wrong with it?" 

"Nothing," Sam said, already digging over the table for her fries. "I'm just gonna steal some of these, if you don't mind..." 

"Wow," Brooke noted, as the thin fries were dunked into the salty ketchup and then shoveled into the open mouth. "You really were starved for this stuff." 

Mouth chewing, Sam nodded, sighing miserably. "One thing I failed to note upon accepting Northwestern, In-n-Out is a strictly a California thing. Over there, people stared at me like I had a second head when I suggested trying to find a place slightly healthier than White Castle." 

"I guess it is a bit of an oxymoron," Brooke noted, and took a bite of her burger, lettuce crunching in her mouth deliciously. "There is an advantage sticking close to home, I guess."

"Mmm," Sam said, too busy chewing to really respond. Licking the dripping ketchup off her fingers, she shot Brooke a quizzical look. "How is good ole' SC? Dating the star quarterback yet?" 

Flushing, Brooke began to pick at her lettuce wrap, trying to gather the lettuce together. "No," she said, a bit indignantly. "He's just a line backer." 

"Oh, God," Sam's eyes nearly disappeared into the top of her head. "Blonde? Goes by the name of Sean or Riley or something?" 

"Adam," Brooke answered, annoyed. "And he happens to be very nice." 

"Totally," Sam said, nodding and then smiled, obviously in the middle of a joke that Brooke clearly wasn't getting. 

"What?" Brooke asked, a little edgier than she wanted to come off. 

"Nothing, it's just..." Sam shrugged and tore off a chunk of meat and bun. "Sounds like you're exactly where you wanna be. In a sorority, dating a football player... at USC, premiere football university on the West Coast..." 

"So?" 

"It's just a little predictable," Sam finished, and looked at her, dark eyes twinkling merrily. "Gonna join the Song Girls too?" 

"Predictable?" The condescending tone was beyond infuriating, and Brooke felt an uncontrollable urge to grab Sam's big honking soda and fling it all over her brown enlightened head. "What, just because I didn't suddenly decide to go all lesbo I'm being predictable?" Sam's smile froze. "Look, Sam, just because you decided to have some major lifestyle change doesn't mean there's anything wrong with going the traditional route." Flinging her disintegrating burger onto her plastic tray, Brooke buried her fingers into her blonde locks. "And for the record, I can't join the Song Girls, because I can't do the splits anymore, thanks to stiff joints and decreased blood flow that occurred during my two month long coma." 

A mounting headache helped ignore the quiet girl on the other side of the table, and Brooke sniffled somewhat angrily, unsure why she was suddenly so needled by Sam and her 'gayer than thou' attitude. 

Soft fingers suddenly brushed against hers, so light and quick she wasn't sure it happened at all, until she glanced up and discovered a somber gaze staring back at her. 

"I'm sorry," Sam said quietly. "I didn't mean to ... demean that. If anything I'm happy for you." 

"You're happy for me?" she repeated. 

"Well, that's what you wanted, isn't it?" Sam asked. "Back to basics? I mean, that's kinda the impression I got when..." 

Breathing out raggedly, Brooke bit down on her bottom lip. Her fingers were still tingling where Sam had touched her, and she rubbed her index finger on her other hand over the spot. 

"Honestly?" she began, a hesitant smile floating on her lips. "I'm so bored, Sam." Sam's eyebrows came together in response. "I mean, you're right. It's just so... predictable. And not that there's anything wrong with my sisters or with Adam, but... it's all the same, you know?" 

Sam's fingers went to her long hair, pulling it behind her ears. "Not really." A crooked smile appeared on the beautiful face. "Everything for me is different. Everything." 

Of course it would be. New school, new living arrangements, new friends, new sexual orientation. 

"How are you coping?" she asked, gently as she could. 

Shrugging, Sam's fingers came together, kneading with each other. "Okay, I guess. Rebecca's been really great, you know about... dealing with me." 

Rebecca. The name had a curious effect on her, and Brooke had to bite down the uncomfortable lurch in her stomach. Her smile wobbled, but thankfully, Sam wasn't looking up at her to see it. 

It was really weird, to be jealous of just a name, but looking at Sam, Brooke knew it was more than that. It was more than the feeling that turned her into a back-stabbing bitch when she decided she wanted to take Josh from Carmen, when she decided she wanted Harrison before Sam could have him. What she was feeling was sadder than that, a little hopeless, and the envy inside of her touched her in a place where she ached, because Rebecca had a piece of Sam that Brooke had never seen before. 

"How'd you guys meet?" She tried to be casual, curious, and nothing else. Sam glanced up and when their eyes locked, she smiled politely. Brown eyes studied her carefully, but Brooke must have appeared sincere, because the other girl only drew out a long breath and grabbed a fry, chewing on it thoughtfully. 

"In class," Sam said. "She's a sophomore, but she was taking this GE because she had put it off, and you know, I understand why, because Geology is heinous. But we ended up as lab partners." 

"Oh." 

"So, then she invited me to a party, and um... it was full of lesbians." The embarrassed smile on Sam's face made Brooke choke just a little. "Apparently I pinged. So there was this big confrontation when everybody thought we were together, and she was incredibly cool about it, and then one thing led to another, and before I knew it, I had kissed her." 

Chest tightening, Brooke found it a little hard to swallow the last bit of her hamburger, especially since it now tasted as if it were made of sand. "Wow." She had kissed Rebecca. She inhaled sharply and took another breath out. "And that did it?" 

"Not necessarily, but it was really nice, and um... and I kinda went with it. So... four months later, here we are." 

Here they were. Brooke nodded a little too energetically, feeling oddly like a chicken. "So... if it's only been Rebecca, how can you be sure that... you know..." 

"That I'm gay?" An amused smile curled on Sam's face, obviously aware of Brooke's uncomfortable state. 

"Yeah," she admitted. 

"I don't, I'm not. I'm still trying to figure it out." Grabbing a napkin, Sam began to methodically rip it to shreds. "But I'm more comfortable and... passionate about Rebecca than I was ever was with George. I realized, it shouldn't be that much work. And it's not. And you know, now that I’m with her, I've been able to look back and view things a little differently. It puts a new perspective." 

"What kind of things?" 

Sam was lost in thought, and suddenly she glanced up, and smiled tightly. "Doesn't matter." 

An intense sort of quiet lingered over the table. Suddenly fragile, Brooke studied the lines and features of her step sister, and felt suddenly like crying. 

"Sam," she said, a rough whisper as she gathered together the remnants of her burger. "Thanks. You... didn't have to tell me all of that." 

There was a quiet pause. "Yeah, well, I guess I've been wanting to get it out." Grabbing the trash onto a single tray, Sam shimmied out of the booth and headed toward the garbage can. 

\-- 

Sam didn't let her back in easily. The drive back from shopping was done in silence, and when they were home, Sam had buried herself into her room, obviously wanting to be alone. 

Brooke got a call from Stephanie, the fellow rushie who lived in Laguna, and was given details about the pre-Christmas beach party. 

"Thank God it's Cali!" she chirped in Brooke's ear. "Where else could we have a party on the beach on December 23rd! I bet the other girls are so jealous of us!" 

Brooke wasn't so sure. Christmas parties with a promised shirtless stripping Santa didn't really seem like her idea of getting into the spirit, but she supposed that was why she had come home. The house smelled like cookies and chocolate, and Jane asked her to make the fudge, since only Brooke had the patience to stand for twenty minutes over a hot stove, stirring the thing. 

At a year and a half, Mac was at the precarious stage where she could walk but preferred to crawl, and because of that, the house remained continually spotless, with Jane being almost ridiculously meticulous about baby gates and her Swiffer sweeper. Each room was over flowing with toys, and Brooke seriously suspected that between the four of them, Mac stood a very good chance of being spoiled rotten. 

It didn't stop her from feeding little Mac-y a bit of chocolate, when the little girl toddled her way to her and wrapped her chubby arms around Brooke's leg. 

"Yum!" Mac tooted happily, and Brooke giggled at the little brunette head, quickly brightening in color. Scruffing at the fluffy bangs, she thought she looked a picture of Sam. 

"God, she's getting so big." Glancing, Brooke spotted a supremely casual Sam stepping into the kitchen, wiping her palms down on her jeans, eyeing the baby. 

"Yeah," Brooke noted. "Can you believe it's been more than a year since we delivered her?" 

"Umm, I delivered her?" Sam noted. "You freaked out." 

"Semantics," Brooke said, and then couldn't help the small grin when she noticed Sam's eyes twinkling in response. 

"So you got stuck with fudge duty again, huh?" Sam asked, hiking herself up onto the counter, watching her intently. 

"Keep me company?" Brooke smiled, stirring methodically. "It's taking longer than I remember." 

Sam agreed wordlessly, preferring to make funny faces as Mac, face half buried in Brooke's leg, stared suspiciously at her. 

"Wow," Sam said, laughing a little uncomfortably. "I don't even think she remembers me." 

"Of course she does," Brooke said, reaching down to pat again at the soft downy hair. "She's just shy." 

"Right," Sam said, obviously not believing her. "God, I didn't even think about it, going away for college. I missed her first word, I missed her teething." 

"Oh, trust me," Brooke said, interrupting her. "Be glad you missed that. I was only here on weekends and Jane and Dad were both so testy I took my clothes to the Laundromat rather than be here." 

"Another perk, free Laundromat," Sam added. 

"Well, you get snow," Brooke said, keeping one eye on her pot and another on little Mac. "And you get to experience something different. And you're not called down every other weekend to babysit." 

"True." Sam's heels banged against the cabinets, and she leaned forward, sticking her tongue out playfully at the still staring Mac. "She looks just like you." 

"Really?" Brooke stared quizzically down at the baby. "I thought she looked more like you." 

Hopping off the counter, Sam leaned into the little face, poking the baby in the ribs. Mac giggled in response, wrapping tighter around Brooke's leg. "Well, maybe she was meant to be the bridge," Sam said. "Oh, God, is this what our baby would look like?" 

Sam sounded horrified, but just the thought made Brooke's smile slip just a little. Staring down at Sam, now sitting cross legged on the floor, and Mac, one hand clutching onto her sweats and the other sneaking hesitantly toward Sam, she felt a rather pronounced longing. 

Clearing her throat, she straightened both eyes now on her pot. "Well, in a way she is. She's half ours, at least. We did deliver her. I think she's as close to being our baby as we'll ever get." 

Unable to keep her gaze away, she turned and found brown eyes locking onto hers intensely. 

"Wow, it smells great in here!" Jumping slightly, Brooke nearly dropped the spoon into the pot. Jane paused, staring down at the floor. "Sam, get up off the floor, and grab Mac while you're at it. I haven't mopped at all today." 

"Relax, Mom," Sam grumbled, gathering Mac into her and hoisting her up. 

"Almost done?" Brooke found herself burning ridiculously, and she smiled a little too widely when Jane looked over her shoulder. "Looks good." 

"Yeah," she answered hastily. "Looks great." 

"Honey, why don't you go ahead and let me take over. Do you guys mind putting in a movie for Mac to watch? She's really into those Wiggles guys, but I think Mike and I might shoot somebody if we had to watch it again." 

"No problem," Sam said, already moving toward the livingroom. 

"Oh, Brooke?" Calling her back, Jane smiled at her, wrapping an apron over her midsection. "Can you stay for a second?" 

Arms wrapped loosely around her torso, Brooke nodded. "Sure," she said, a little breathlessly. 

"How'd it go?" 

Glancing toward the closed door, Brooke cleared her throat, trying to loosen the tension in her shoulders. "It went fine." 

"You seem like you're getting along," Jane said, grabbing a pair of oven mitts. "Is she talking to you?" 

"Umm... a little bit. I don't really..." 

"Oh, don’t worry," Jane said, waving her away. "You don't have to share. I’m just glad you two are acting more like sisters, is all." 

The word caused a decisive tumble in her stomach, and Brooke only smiled stiffly and turned away. 

\-- 

"I'm going to die." Crossing her arms, Sam stared at the screen, utterly horrified. "I'm going to seriously die." 

Between them, Mac giggled and clapped her chubby hands together, bouncing in her seat. 

Brooke couldn't help an exasperated smile. "You ever wonder how much alcohol these guys drink to stay sane?" 

"Good Lord," Sam shook her head. "How lucky was I to miss this before?" Onscreen, The Wiggles grinned happily, doing their little dances, surrounded by toddlers. 

"They had a concert in LA," Brooke said. "Jane actually made Dad go." 

"Okay, this is seriously creepy." 

Hiding a smile, Brooke clapped along with Mac, as the baby screeched happily. Sam continued her horrified stare. 

"She watches this? This is what they're feeding her? What happened to Sesame Street? Kids Incorporated? Barney!" 

"Barney?" Brooke interrupted, amused. "You'd pick Barney over this?" 

"Hey, I learned what pumpernickel was thanks to Barney," Sam scoffed. 

"You'd pick a big purple dinosaur that magically shoots up when the parent's go away over four grown men who want nothing more than to hang around with little kids." Sam stared at her, and the idea sunk in. She shivered. "Okay, point taken." 

"Gross." Crossing her legs, Sam stared down at Mac. "Gross, Mac." Mac grinned at her, and smacked her on the thigh. "Ouch." 

Shifting in her seat, Brooke rubbed her finger on her ear thoughtfully. "So... are you doing anything on the 23rd?" 

Sam glanced at her. "Why?" 

"Well... there's that party I was telling you about..." 

"Oh." Sam frowned, tongue sliding out to moisten her bottom lip in thought. Brooke had to look away, uncomfortable when she realized she was following the movement a little too closely. "What about Adam?" 

"Oh, he's back home in Indiana." She felt awkward, and a little exposed. Curling her fingers together a small fist, she looked down at her lap. "We don't have to be there very long..." 

"But you need to make an appearance?" Sam asked flatly. 

"It wouldn't hurt," she admitted. 

"Didn't you say you were bored with it?" 

She did say that. Brooke's cheeks were hot, and she shuffled in her seat, blowing out a ragged breath. "I don't have any other friends right now, Sam." Glancing up, she shrugged. "Harrison- he's your friend, and... Mary Cherry is in the Alps with Carmen and Nicole..." 

"Tried to kill you, got it." Nodding, Sam stayed quiet, moving only to steady Mac when she got too excited over the Wiggles. "Sure, why not," she responded. 

Relief fluttered over Brooke, and she placed a palm on Mac's thigh. "Thanks," she said to the tv.

\-- 

Dressing up for a sorority party on the beach was tricky. There was a dress code, but it was a function only in association, not formality, and because of that, Brooke thought she could get away with some nice jeans and a pea coat that could be peeled way to display a nicely tight top. 

She was oddly apprehensive, as she stepped into the bathroom, ready to finish up her make up. In the week that had passed, the truce struck up with Sam had become something like the friendship they had developed before, and for that she was grateful. Evenings found Sam splayed on her bed, talking about things to her that Brooke sometimes wished she didn't know that much about. She now knew Rebecca's last name, and her favorite kind of take out, and the fact that Rebecca wanted Sam to move in with her into the dorms. 

Brooke had taken small comfort in the fact that Sam wasn't ready to embrace the U-Haul quite yet. 

"Besides, I'm thinking about doing a semester abroad," Sam told her that Wednesday, laying so comfortably on Brooke's bed that it made her ache just a little. "Don't want to make it anymore complicated." 

"Really?" she asked her. "Where to?" 

"Dunno," Sam responded. "Maybe Italy?" 

Brooke had the same idea, and when Sam had mentioned it to her, an idea had begun to germinate. Still, there was enough delicacy in their tentative friendship that she didn't think horning in on Sam's travel plans was quite appropriate. 

She had missed Sam. She understood it, and she was jealous of her too. Sam seemed to be open, comfortable, and a little relieved to be able to share every part of herself with Brooke. There was still a part of her that held out. Moments when Sam seemed on the verge of spilling too much, and then her mouth would shut and she would smile sheepishly and clam up. 

Brooke didn't blame her. The year of the polite-freeze out was still fresh on both their minds, and Brooke felt like she was trying a little too hard to erase it. 

Staring into the mirror, Brooke tried to look at herself. Sam said that Rebecca thought she had pinged. Did Brooke ping? Eyes narrowing, she looked at the curled waves of hair that cascaded down her shoulders, at the diamond earrings that hung delicately from her ears, the make up applied just so it looked a little better than natural. 

"What are you doing?" In the mirror, Sam appeared behind her, and Brooke's mouth suddenly went dry. Dressed in dark colors, Sam was always obliviously stunning. In a halter top and dark jeans, she looked like a gothy sort of cheerleader, and it was an incredibly sexy look. Fussing with an earring, Sam smiled at her through the glass. "Looking for blackheads?" 

"No," she said, a rough whisper. Straightening, she smoothed down her clothes. "You look good." 

"Good enough for Pi Phi party?" Sam grinned, doing a mock turn. "Don't think they'll kick me out for not wearing pastels, do you?" 

"I think you're going to get hit on left and right," Brooke told her honestly. 

Blushing modestly, Sam shrugged. "Yeah, well, can't. Taken. Whatever. You look good, too. I like your hair long." 

"Thanks." Hand rising self consciously to her curls, Brooke smiled. "I can do more with it." 

Turning to rest her hip on the bathroom counter they now shared without complaint, Sam reached forward, fingers threading through the blonde curls. Stiffening, Brooke held her breath, suddenly tense as Sam played with it, fingers just rasping along the sensitive column of her neck. 

"I like it," she said again, and then dropped her hand to her side. "You ready to get going?" 

Recovering with a timid smile, Brooke nodded mutely. As Sam turned, Brooke reached up and cupped her neck, suddenly breathless. 

\-- 

"Brookie!" A small blonde plowed into Brooke's arms, peppering kisses on both cheeks. "You're here! You guys! Brooke is here!" 

Beside her, Sam offered a weary grin, and Brooke patted Stephanie's shoulders. "Someone's obviously started drinking early." 

"Oh, my God, you guys, this party RULES!" Stephanie hopped up and down in the sand. "Jason got a glow in the dark volleyball, and we're playing beach volleyball right over there! And Troy got sumo outfits and some guys are surfing!" Gushing over, she finally got sight of Sam. "Who're you?" she asked, genuinely curious. 

"Oh, Stephanie, this is Sam," Brooke said, as Sam smiled in response. 

"Oh, my God! The cute gay step sis!" Stephanie said, and Brooke immediately winced. "I'm so glad you came! Brooke is forever talking about you!" 

"She is?" Sam asked, and Brooke's eyes closed, cursing Tequila and Stephanie's running mouth. 

Shrugging helplessly, Brooke tried a pathetic smile as Stephanie immediately turned away, shouting at whoever would listen, "You guys! Brookie brought her cute gay sister!" 

"Oh my God," Brooke breathed, horrified as the crowded party immediately began to inspect Sam like she was a zoo animal. "I’m sorry," She whispered hurriedly. "Someone was there when I got the phone call from Jane, and it just... spread." 

"It's okay," Sam said, but clearly, it wasn't. Sam looked a little bit more tense, her mouth was a thin line. "But if any frat guy asks for a threesome or some bi-curious straight girl hits on me, I'm outta here." 

Staring at the already tipsy crowd of both frat boys and curious straight girls, Brooke inwardly groaned. "Why don't I just get you something to drink?" 

\--

They were there only thirty minutes before Jamie and her boyfriend James approached her and Sam and both hit on her AND eluded to a threesome. 

Thankfully, by then, Sam had already consumed two glasses of a very strong rum and coke, and one shot of a kamikaze. 

Because of that, Sam only stared at them, and Brooke, determined to keep USC's party crowd from collectively ruining Sam's perception of her forever, led her away quickly, holding tightly onto her hand. 

The party was rambunctious and crazy, and Brooke determinedly remained sober. She was a little surprised at how quickly Sam was downing the drinks, but she strongly suspected it had less to do with Sam's drinking habits than it did just trying to get through the party where she was repeatedly stared at as if she was some sexy educational experiment. 

"I'm sorry," Brooke said, for the twentieth time, moving them out of the house. "They're not all this bad, I swear." 

"I know," Sam said, eyelids fluttering, obviously exhausted. Still, she was good-humored enough to smile. "At least the house is pretty." 

They were still holding hands, and since Sam seemed to have no inclination to let go, Brooke intertwined their fingers, keeping their palms pressed together. "Have you seen the beach? It's amazing. Stephanie's dad owns this whole stretch, so it's private. One night after a formal, we call came over here and had a midnight naked swimming party." 

"Nice," Sam said, and when she wobbled slightly, Brooke grinned, kicking off her shoes. 

"Come on, let's walk some of that rum off." Swinging their hands between them, Brooke stared at Sam, as the other girl closed her eyes, and breathed in the salty air. With the moonlight flickering down on her, she seemed to almost glow. "You know, they probably would stare at you like that even if they didn't know you were gay," she said quietly, as her feet sank into the cool sand. "You look really beautiful tonight."

Sam gave a little snort, concentration focused now on trying to make it through the sinking sand. The sounds of the party now were more distant than before, as the tide hung back and the cool breeze felt a little wetter. "I really doubt I'm anybody's type in there." 

"You'd be surprised," Brooke said, and then stopped unceremoniously when Sam suddenly plopped down, forcing her to stumble and nearly plow into her. "Guess we're sitting," she said breathlessly, steadying herself against Sam's shoulders. 

"Yeah, siddown," Sam said, grinning up at her, and yanking on her hand. Curling up beside her, Brooke shivered a little, telling herself it was from the cold when Sam's cheek fell against her shoulder, nose burying into her throat. "I missed you," she said quietly. 

In that moment, Brooke's insides seemed to liquefy, and she closed her eyes, breathing in unsteadily as her fingers wrapped even more tightly against Sam's, moved her chin slightly so feel the nudge of Sam's face against her sensitive throat, hot breath against her skin. 

"I missed you too," she whispered, words barely heard above the crashing waves. 

Sam's eyes were closed, and she appeared almost asleep, free hand reaching out to run along Brooke's forearm, an incredibly tender touch. Eyelids fluttered, Brooke was captivated. 

"You know, I think I had a crush on you." Sam said it so methodically, and Brooke's heart nearly burst, eyes opening to stare down at the brown head, the warm body relaxed so sweetly against her. "Looking back. I think that was why I had such a problem with Mike and Mom getting married. I just... I couldn't figure out what was so creepy about it, but I think that was it." Brooke couldn’t move, entire body and mind focused on simply hearing Sam's drunk confession. 

"Sam..." 

"And later, after your accident," she continued, as if she hadn't heard her at all. "I thought you had figured it out. That you figured it out and were disgusted and that's why you didn't want to be with me anymore." 

"Sam, I would never-" 

"It's okay." Sam's head lifted, and Brooke was suddenly treated to two glittering orbs, sincere in their emotion. "I never expected anything. I'm with Rebecca now, and I'm happy. I'm just glad we're friends again. That's all I want from you, Brooke. That's all I need." 

With that, Sam curled into her again, and closed her eyes, content with the crashing waves and the distant music wafting over. In that moment, Brooke knew Sam had found her peace. 

Glancing up at the moonlight, Brooke's tongue swiped out and she tasted salt on her cheeks. She told herself she wasn't crying, that it was just the ocean's moist air. 

Wiping at her cheeks with her free hand, she held her best friend and watched as the waves crashed into the sand, only twenty feet away.


	3. You Stare Politely Right On Through

It was hard to ignore the irony, in what Brooke discovered the day before Christmas Eve. While Sam didn’t say she was in love with her, she did admit to a crush, and that meant that there had been some point, some chance, where something could have happened. 

Brooke honestly didn’t know if either of them would have been ready for it, if it would have happened at all, but awareness of it led to a long sleepless night, where she stayed up and reconsidered every look, every touch, every intimate moment that passed between them. 

She closed her eyes and in her mind she saw the moments taken a step further, where she had gone from just looking at Sam to kissing her, and she imagined soft lips against hers, breathless whispers and dark eyes staring at her, so deep she thought she could drown in them. 

Turning in her sheets, she stared at the bathroom and imagined Sam on the other side, and she buried her face into her pillows and curled her fingers around her sheets, making fists. She went through so much emotion, from anger to sorrow to a brief moment of exhilaration because Sam had actually LIKED her, had actually WANTED her, and maybe some bit of her still did. 

Still, Sam hadn't wanted her enough to kiss her, like she did Rebecca. And Sam was her step-sister, and Sam had no idea that Brooke even wanted her. It was all so wrong and messed up and Brooke hated that. 

Sam hadn't exactly been falling down drunk. She had drunk just enough to be happy and carefree and a little too rambly, and Brooke couldn't fault her that. She didn't know Sam's drinking binges well enough to know if Sam would even mention what she had told her the next day. 

Brooke wondered how weak she was, for wanting to kiss Sam in that state. 

As the sun peaked through the windows and she turned her exhausted body over to stare up at the ceiling, Brooke was no closer to understanding how to process what she now knew. It was better to ignore it, she knew that. To pretend Sam hadn't said it and continue on with Option B, because Option B didn't exactly leave room for weakened longings of lust for her step sister. 

Somehow, her exhaustion must have overcome her thoughts, because it was close to 10AM when she heard rustling in the bathroom, as bleary eyes woke up to a foggy version of her side of the bathroom door opening. 

"Knock much," she slurred, more of a habit, than anything else, when she closed her eyes again, not able to do much with the sleep induced weight pressing her into her bed. 

"You okay?" 

The voice was Sam's, and Brooke licked her dry lips and inwardly groaned, reaching to grab her extra pillow and curling it over her head. "No. I didn’t sleep." 

"Oh." The bed bobbed with unseen weight, and Brooke kept her eyes determinedly closed, holding her breath when she felt Sam spread out alongside her. "Yeah, me neither." 

The warmth of the back against her own was comforting and frightening at the same time. "You okay?" she asked, digging further into her covers. 

"A little headache," Sam responded, a second later. "Thanks for taking care of me." 

"Anytime," she managed carefully. Two plops on the floor signaled that Sam had kicked off her shoes, and Brooke's heart beat began to accelerate. Without a word, she shrugged herself out of her cocoon and threw the other half of the covers to the other side of the bed. A shimmy of the warmth alongside her back and the small poke of an ass against hers indicated Sam had taken her up on her unspoken offer. 

Closing her eyes, she released the breath she hadn't been aware she had been holding. 

A few quiet minutes past, in which Brooke found herself hauntingly aware of every curve of Sam's back, the feel of the warm body in her bed. 

"Hey, Brooke?" 

"Yeah," she whispered, eyes fluttering open, staring at the champagne glass that held Little Bleu. 

"Do you remember what I said last night?" 

Stiffening slightly, Brooke's eyes fluttered in emotion, and she tried to calm herself, gripping the sheets around her tighter. "Yeah." It was almost deadly quiet now, and Brooke wasn't sure what she was waiting for. Turning around, she raised herself onto her elbow, and looked down at the other girl in her bed. What she saw, once she was able to concentrate beyond the furious pounding of her heart, was a frightened girl. It broke her. "Hey." Curling an palm around a slender shoulder, she forced gently onto her back, to look into a nervous face. "It's okay. Really." 

She smiled, as comfortingly as she could, and as carefully as she would handle Little Mac, she snuggled into the warm body, and burrowed her face into Sam's shoulder. "I love you, Sam," she admitted, and the stiff body underneath her almost seemed to melt. 

Slowly, as if she were still scared, Sam's hand slid up her shoulders, and Brooke unconsciously shuddered when Sam held her, as tenderly as she dared. 

Closing her eyes, she smoothed her palm along a flat stomach, and told herself it was enough, when Sam said in a breathless whisper, "I love you, too." 

\-- 

Thankfully, Jane had seen fit to let them both sleep in, and it wasn't until after noon, when voices were heard in the distant part of the house, that Brooke began to stir, wiping accidental drool off the corner of her mouth, lifting herself from the sweaty portion of Sam's shoulder. 

The mussed brunette hair cascading against her pillow was heartbreakingly easy to see, and she smiled at the sleepy droopy eyelids that fluttered as Sam yawned, producing a stinky bout of morning breath. 

"Cinderella time," Brooke said, patting her step sister in a friendly way, before she stretched her back and scooted off the bed, determined to leave any residual weirdness behind. "Do you want the bathroom first?" 

"Umm… sure." Sam took a second longer, obviously still half asleep.

Lingering doubt had her keeping her eyes off the bed, and she busied herself with pulling the bottom drawer out from her desk and grabbing hold of Little Bleu's pellets. The bedsprings creaked and she bit back a bittersweet smile, as she carefully measured out the proper amount and turned to discover the little fish swimming around excitedly. 

The action made her smile. "Yes," she said, coming forward and scattering the food around the bowl. "You're hungry, aren't you?" The curious feeling of a spectator made her glance up, and she caught Sam staring at her, a bemused smile on the beautiful face. Suddenly self conscious, Brooke glanced away. "What?" 

"Nothing, I just… I'm just glad you like him, that's all." 

"Sam." Raising her head, she offered a gentle, sincere smile. "Thanks for the fish." 

Brooke hoped the sentiment behind the repeated statement made up for the flippant disregard she had shown the last time she said it. 

The softness in Sam's face, the hesitant smile, and the almost bashful turn away made her believe maybe it had. 

\--

It was Christmas Eve, and after ten hours of baking, cheery holiday singing, and wrapping, Brooke was thoroughly grateful her father had given her the go ahead to head to her bedroom. 

Crawling four-legged over the bed, she flopped over and stared at the ceiling. 

"Merry Christmas," she said to nobody in particular, and too exhausted to sleep, reached for her IPOD. Her suspicion that Little Mac was going to get spoiled rotten was well on it's way to be proven correct, as the entire pile surrounding the tree was already dedicated to her. The baby, stuffed with too many cookies, and Brooke's fudge, had stayed up an entire two hours past her bedtime, thanks to the sugar rush that had been plied into her.

Brooke had taken a call from Adam, and had even gotten to speak to the mysterious Rebecca, when she had accidentally walked in on Sam in mid-phone call. It had been as awkward as she'd thought it would be, and she had been relieved when Sam took the phone back. 

Rebecca had sounded nice enough, what two minutes she had heard from her, at least as far as disembodied voices went. 

It was almost interesting, from a freshman psych point of view, how much Brooke wanted to hate her. 

"Hey." A tentative knock on her bathroom door distracted her from fiddling with her IPOD, and Brooke discovered her stepsister, lingering in the doorway. "Didn't know if you'd still be up." 

She smiled, sitting up in a direct invitation to come in. "How's Harrison?" 

"Oh, you know," Sam said, already taking off her earrings, depositing them into the purse she carried. "The same. You should have come." 

She smiled awkwardly. "Thanks, but… Harrison and I… it's still weird." She didn't need to say much more than that. While she still considered him a friend, she had never quite been able to explain to him why exactly she had walked away from him that night. She was sure a part of him still blamed her for the rejection that came from that. "Besides, I'm sure he wanted to spend some time with you." 

"Oh, you know Harrison," Sam said, blowing out her breath and rolling her eyes, sinking down onto the bed. "He wanted to tell me how horrible college is and how all the girls are only into jocks, and how he could have sworn that THIS time it would have been different…" 

"Sounds like Harrison," Brooke admitted, curling her knees into her chest and hugging them to her. "Did you tell him? About Rebecca?" 

Sam seemed to hesitate, and with a small shrug, she smiled sheepishly. "I chickened out. I know," she added, when Brooke arched an eyebrow. "I suck. I wanted to tell him, but I just… augh." Her face flopped into her bedspread, brown hair puddling around her. "It's so weird," she mumbled. 

"Well, you don't have to tell everyone right away, Sam," Brooke said quietly. "You have time. Unless you want a coming out party." Sam's head inched up, fingers poking through her bangs to peek at her. Brooke's smile widened teasingly. "I could throw you one. Little gay hats and little gay banners." 

"Gay hats?" Sam asked, and Brooke's grin grew absolutely wicked. "What do gay hats look like?" 

"All sparkly," Brooke said, fingers twiddling. "With a disco ball stuck on top." 

"Ew." 

"And a gay cake." 

"A gay cake?" Sam responded, giggle erupting. 

"Sure. All purple and pink and stuff. And Jane and Dad and I can wear those GLAAD pins-" 

"Oh, please no," Sam chortled. 

"And we can get a little GLAAD t-shirt for MAC! It'll be awesome!" A pillow flung at her head cut off any other on the fly party ideas, and Brooke burst out into laughter, falling back on the bed. "Oh come on," she said, grabbing old of the pillow and hugging it to her. "It would be great." 

"Don't you dare," Sam warned, but there was laughter in the back of her voice. Unceremoniously, Brooke whacked her with the pillow. "Ouch!" 

Too tired to fight back, Sam only flopped down beside her, half heartedly slapping one end of the pillow onto Brooke's chest. Sighing raggedly, she stared up at the ceiling. 

Breathless, Brooke glanced over, discovered a solemn face, as if Sam was searching the ceiling for some answer to some unasked question. 

"What?" she asked, and then stopped talking, as Sam reached over and entwined their hands, pulled her closer, until they were shoulder to shoulder. 

Shaken by Sam's unexpected intimacy, Brooke kept silent, and waited, unsure and aware and heartbreakingly anxious, until Sam suddenly turned into her and threw an arm around her stomach, curling into her body. 

"Can I stay here tonight?" Sam breathed, and Brooke's eyes shut tightly, completely torn. 

"Why?" she managed tightly. "Miss your girlfriend and you need a replacement?" 

She regretted the sentence as soon as it came out, and wincing, she opened her eyes and turned to Sam immediately, ready to take it back. But it was too late. Sam's frame was already stiffening, obviously hurt. 

"No, I just… forget it." 

"Sam… I didn't –" 

Scooting off, Sam just shot her a wounded look and shut the door to the bathroom, locking Brooke in. 

"Dammit." 

\--

Two steps forward, three steps back. 

The closer she would get to Sam, the more frightened she was, and of what, she still didn’t know.

Of herself? Maybe. Brooke had always thought herself a paradigm of self control, but she had been known to take that to the extreme, and she supposed her eating disorder was direct evidence of that. She had sworn to herself that she was going to be what Sam needed, and that was fine, until Sam decided what she needed was a cuddle buddy. 

Hyperawareness of her feelings had created a terribly insecure woman. Brooke was attractive. She sincerely believed that. She knew other people believed that. For so long, she had thought it was her only true merit. Most of the time, if she wanted a guy, it had only taken a matter of time before she would snag him. Josh was a notable exception, but she took a small amount of comfort in the fact that she had dumped him first. 

But Brooke had never wanted anyone the way it was becoming increasingly clear that she wanted Sam. And she had never been more aware that the situation was impossible. No amount of seduction or manipulation would get her what she wanted. She wasn't even sure if she would have been ready for what she wanted. Who was to guarantee that if Sam kissed her Brooke wouldn't take her unresolved sexual issues and completely combust? 

And there was Little Mac, and Jane and her father, and no one would understand, because the longer they lived together, the more people saw them as sisters, and there were LAWS against those kind of things happening between sisters. God, Brooke had even fooled HERSELF into believing it was a sisterly love she felt for Sam. And even if she could convince herself it wasn't incestuous, there would forever be explanations and judgements and Brooke didn't think she could handle that. 

Not to mention, Sam didn't even WANT her. Sam wanted a sister. Sure, maybe, once upon a time, she had thought she had a lingering crush on Brooke, but what did that mean now? Nothing. Sam was with Rebecca, and she certainly talked about the other girl enough in front of Brooke to make Brooke think it had to have been real. 

Sam had made it clear in her drunken ramblings: she wanted a sister. She wanted a friend. 

And Sam had no idea that she was giving Brooke panic attacks. She didn't know that just by curling into her shoulder, offering a wiff of lavender and the scent that was uniquely Sam, she was turning Brooke into a hyperactive panicky… horny toad. She had no idea that everything she did was being analyzed and scrutinized, and every single moment she was within a foot's reach, Brooke was honestly thinking about throwing each and every reason not to ruin this out the window by pressing a kiss against Sam's lips. 

Brooke was so messed up, and it was Christmas, and somehow that just made it all worse. 

She must have looked as miserable as she felt, when she trudged into the living room early Christmas morning, into the quintessential family scene of Mac surrounded by her parents and a pile of wrapping paper. Still in her pajamas, she pushed the glasses she had lazily grabbed in favor of contacts, and settled into the lounge chair, eyeing the still form of Sam on the other couch, slender fingers curled around a coffee mug. The other girl caught her questioning smile, and glanced away. 

"Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning," her dad said, obviously noting her less than cheery expression. "Merry Christmas, Honey!" 

Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, she pasted on an appropriate smile. "Merry Christmas, you guys." 

Jane was practically hopping, and she noted ruefully that while Mac's parents were obviously in a tizzy, Mac seemed to be more interested in the shredded wrapping paper than the expensive toys currently being shoved in her direction. 

"Okay, Christmas ritual over, can we go back to bed now?" Resting her chin on the top of her knee, Sam looked sincerely underwhelmed. 

"You guys! Come on! Where's your Christmas spirit!" Jane slammed her hands on her thighs. "We're just getting started! Come on. Remember that great party you two threw a couple years ago?" 

"Oh, you mean when we had friends who were actually in town that hadn't tried to kill us?" Brooke asked, uncharacteristically dry. 

"Well, that's no reason we can't have our own nice dinner, just the five of us." Mike grabbed hold of Mac and hoisted the baby on his shoulders. "Come on, you guys! Who wants to make sugar cookies!" 

Sam visibly winced at the good will. "This family is entirely too chipper." Brooke shot her a sympathetic smile, one that Sam warily returned. 

"Oh, come on, you two. We have presents for you too!" 

"Yay," they announced lamely, in perfect sync, and because Brooke was closer, she got the smack from Jane as punishment. 

"Ow," she muttered, rubbing at her head ruefully. 

"Come on, you guys! Who wants Christmas pancakes!" With that, Jane and Mike both rushed out, taking little Mac with them and leaving a mountain of wrapping paper and two sullen girls in their wake. 

Sam stayed quiet, staring glumly at her coffee. Biting her lower lip, Brooke took a breath and sighed. "Hey." Glancing up, Sam looked at her without expression. "I'm sorry," she said, and felt like she was capable of saying nothing else. Did every conversation they had had to start with an apology? "I don't know why I said what I said last night. I was just…" 

"Being Brooke?" Sam asked, eyebrow arching. The venom however, wasn't there, and Brooke blew out a relieved breath, shrugging. 

"Bitchy goes with the territory, I guess." 

"You're lucky I'm used to it." A hint of a smile curled up Sam's lips, and her expression was almost bemused. There was a shared moment of regret, and then Sam broke the silence by pushing off the couch, setting her coffee to the side and reaching under the tree. "Might as well get this over with." Shimmying over to Brooke, she laid a silver wrapped present onto her lap. 

Rectangular in size, the box was small, but it was the expression on Sam's face that made it priceless. "Thank you," she breathed, and wrapped her fingers around it possessively, pressing it against her chest. On her knees, Sam looked up at her kindly, and Brooke was captivated. "I have something for you," she whispered, and then as gently as she could, nudged Sam aside, falling gently to the floor and reaching for a delicately wrapped gift, tied together with a gaudy gold bow. 

Turning, she offered Sam a nervous grin. "Merry Christmas." 

Sam was surprised, and Brooke felt a small hint of shame at that. But still, she reached forward and took the gift from her, fingertips sliding against hers, drawing it into her lap. 

"You first," Sam said, and Brooke's hesitant smile grew wider, moving her attention to the present sitting in her lap. Careful with the wrapping, she took her time, until she glanced up and noticed that Sam was staring at her with some irritation. "Anytime now." 

"Sorry," she whispered, and then rolled her eyes, and managed to pull out the jewelry box. Heart in her throat, she snuck one more look at Sam and then separated the top from the bottom. Nestled inside was a silver charm bracelet, and hanging from it was simple charm. 

"It's a betta fish," Sam said, when Brooke said nothing. Plucking out the braceley, she spread it between her fingertips, displaying the dangling charm. "I special ordered it. I figured, you know, since you keep taking that fish everywhere, this way, you can always have him." 

Brooke was overwhelmed. At a loss, she simply shook her head, absurdly over emotional. 

"Okay, do you hate it? Cause, I can exchange it-" 

"I love it," she breathed, and quickly reached for her sleeve, revealing her bare wrist. "Can you-"

"Oh, sure!" Sam looked relieved more than anything else, and Brooke held her breath. "Why are you trembling?" Sam whispered and it was then that Brooke realized she was, actually trembling. 

"Sorry," she said, and Sam neatly clasped the bracelet, skin warm against the sensitive inside of her wrist. "Thank you," she managed, and brought the bracelet clad wrist to her chest, covering it with her other arm, her limb suddenly precious. Sam's gaze was intense, and fighting tears, she blinked away her emotion, voice husky as she nodded to the present still sitting in Sam's lap. "Your turn. I don't think it'll compare, but… " 

Sam reached for it anyway, and with more enthusiasm than Mac, ripped the carefully constructed bow off and tore at the wrapping paper. Two hard cover books fell into her lap. 

Confused, Sam clearly didn't know what to think at first. Picking up the first, she rubbed at the spine. "Leather!" she said, bewildered, and then read the title, "Fingersmith. By Sarah Waters." 

Clearing her throat, Brooke began to explain. "I umm… I did some research, and umm…. There was this website, and they said, that that author was really good. And you know…" Brooke was sure her face was now a deep shade of crimson. 

Sam met her gaze, bemused smile now curling up her lips. "What website?" 

Flushing, Brooke shoved a finger along her ear, pushing her bangs back. "Afterellen.com." 

"You got lesbian romance novels because they were suggested by Afterellen.com?" 

"Umm… yes?" 

Sam stared at her for a full minute. "You are quite possibly the cutest, nerdiest step sister in existence."

Well, at least, she was the cutest, nerdiest step sister in existence who was also the color of the tomato. 

"Well, I figured if you liked them, we could get you the movies, and maybe watch them. I know there's a couple out there-" 

"Brooke." Sam saved her from further embarrassment with a simple touch. "I love them. Thank you." 

Her grin was ridiculously big and cheesy, she knew that. 

She couldn't help it. 

\--

"So when are you flying out?" she asked on New Years Eve, as they sat together on the couch and watched another painfully boring rendition of Dick Clark's Rockin' Eve. Little Mac had long since gone to bed, and her dad and Jane, party animals that they were, hadn't made it past the eleven o'clock hour. They had retired, with strict instructions to wake them up at midnight. Brooke was pretty sure they would be snoring well before. 

It had left her alone with Sam, watching television, in what was quite possibly the tamest way she had ever spent the New Year since she had turned sixteen. They shared a bottle of wine, with their parent's blessing, and an assorted series of junk food. To be honest, she had been glad for it. 

Three weeks had gone surprisingly fast, and while Brooke was painfully aware that her feelings for Sam were a mess of complication, the truth of the matter was, she would miss her, desperately. 

"Around 6," Sam said, and offered her the bowl of popcorn. Grabbing a handful with a grateful smile, Brooke took another sip of wine and stared at the countdown clock. 

11:58PM. 

"Should we bother to try and wake them up?"

Brows furrowing, Sam contemplated the thought, and shrugged. "Remember the earthquake?" she reminded her. "Mike wouldn't even wake up when the glass in the bathroom shattered." 

"Point taken. There's no point." The crowd in Times Square was getting increasingly rowdy, and Brooke shuddered in her pajamas. "Who in their right mind would go over there on New Year's Eve? It's frigid. It's crowded. No one's going to get home until maybe four am because of all the traffic-" 

"Wow, college has turned you into quite the party animal, Brooke," Sam said, lips quirking in amusement. 

Brooke rolled her eyes. "I'm just saying. Why spend your New Years like that? You can go get drunk and party anywhere. I think the New Years should be spent in contemplation. Think about what you've accomplished and what you want to accomplish. And plan accordingly." 

"You mean resolutions." 

"I mean real resolutions," she corrected. 

"And your real resolution, Brooke?" Sam asked her, turning to face her, genuinely curious. 

Brooke considered her year, and her many mistakes. Beside her, Sam was fresh faced, beautiful, and for the moment, Brooke understood, she was at least, content. "To have fewer regrets." Sam mulled the thought. "I'm going to miss you, Sam." 

Distracted, Sam locked glances with her, dark eyes burning into her own. Lush mouth opening, closing, Sam suddenly moved the bowl of popcorn away. "Come to spring break with me." 

It was a unexpected request. "What?"

"Seriously. Come with me. You can meet Rebecca, and hang out and… it would be nice… I think."

The countdown had started, and Brooke jerked her gaze away from intense stare of Sam to the ball beginning to drop. 

"TEN! NINE! EIGHT! SEVEN! SIX!" 

Mind suddenly whirling, she sucked in her breath, and turned to a raven beauty, with dark broody eyes and a wide, pouting mouth. 

"FIVE, FOUR, THREE-" 

The countdown resonated within her, and when the New Year came, the television exploded in a cacophony of sound, and yet Brooke heard none of it. Her focus was clearly on the face before her, and here, on New Years, was a brief moment of clarity. 

Reaching forward, she found herself tracing a thumb alongside the curved cheek, discovering the vitatily of her senses all over again, and she smiled, the feeling pure ambrosia. 

"Happy New Year, Sam," she whispered, and caught up in the moment, she saw no reason to repress herself. 

In a second, lush lips connected with her own, and the sounds of the television drowned out her moan, as she kissed Sam, at the magical twelfth hour. Fragile, tender, she released Sam gently, eyes still closed, until they fluttered open and she discovered a face, a mouth, a soft hint of breath, dangerously close to her own. 

"You guys didn't wake us?!" 

Like a cascade of cold water, the voices intruded onto her sacred moment of naked emotion. Jerking back, she forced a smile onto her face, and without another look at Sam, she rose from the couch, and quickly went into her father's arms, kissing him soundly on the cheek. 

"Happy New Years!" she cheered, and ignored the furious beating of her heart. 

When she finally could look at Sam again, she knew the moment had passed, and she knew, Sam could have simply passed it off as a boozy New Years kiss. 

But her mouth burned, and in her weakness, Brooke had discovered that knowing what Sam's kiss felt like was an entirely worse form of torture than imagining it. 

What a way to start the New Year.


	4. Between The Lines of Fear And Blame

"Seriously, Brooke, Florida? You're choosing Florida over the awesomeness of Cabo? Do you have any idea how many hot guys will be there? Drunk? Naked?" 

Glancing up, Brooke offered a weak shrug in response, as Stephanie settled onto her roommate's bed, sitting Indian style. 

Folding together another bikini, Brooke concentrated on her packing. "Sam asked me to go, and I'd like to see her."

"Ahh… the cute gay sis." Maria, her dark-haired, olive-skinned roommate mused, swinging into the room and crawling around Stephanie, punching up a pillow to make herself comfy. "But isn't she going with her girlfriend and all their gay friends?" 

Resisting the urge to roll her eyes at her audience, Brooke nodded. "Probably." 

"Oh, God, what if one of them hits on you?" Stephanie asked, horrified at the thought.

"I kissed a girl once." Settling back on her bed, Maria considered the memory. "At that Kappa party." 

Closing her suitcase, Brooke kept her mouth purposely closed. 

"Oh really? How was it?" 

"Disappointing. I think the girl I got was just a bad kisser. Cause it was really wet. I hate wet sloppy kisses. Then again we both were really drunk." 

"Do you think drunk gay girls can have sex? Cause Jason got really drunk once and seriously, nothing was more pathetic than trying to have sex with that brewery." 

"I wish we had a gay girl in this sorority." Maria chewed on the end of her hair thoughtfully. 

"Seriously." Stephanie nodded agreeably. "We need to keep our diversity quotient up. If only they were prettier. All the LGBT girls in our classes look all… why aren't there any lesbians here like the girls in the L Word?" 

"They're all at Northwestern," Maria said, and thumbed over to Brooke's side of the room. "Hooking up with Sammy." 

"Hey, Brooke. If you meet any cute gay girls that want to transfer, try to get them to rush, yeah?" 

Oh, Good God. Smiling tightly, Brooke turned back, hoisting her pack over her shoulder. "Will you guys please remind Martha to feed the fish? I know I've already asked her-"

"Oh, trust me honey," Stephanie said, waving a manicured palm in her direction. "No one is going to mess with the Fish Chick's Little Bleu." 

"Yeah, that thing's practically a mascot," Maria said. 

Palm wrapping around the handle of her suitcase, she shot her roommate a frown. "And Maria, please for the love of God, do not spend all night with your compact against the bowl trying to get him to fight himself." 

"But he gets all puffed up and pretty!" 

Fighting the urge to smile and inadvertently encourage her sisters, Brooke grabbed her purse and blew a quick kiss to the little fish. "I'll see you guys in a week." 

"Don't do anything I wouldn't do!" Stephanie twittered after her.

"Please," she heard Maria mutter. "Like that leaves out a whole lot." 

\-- 

There was a nervous pit in the bottom of her stomach, a hard knot that made her nauseous. Maneuvering through throngs of travelers, she gripped her luggage so hard that her knuckles were white with the effort. Eyes peeled for a brunette, she wondered idly if there was time to hurl before she had to meet up with Sam and her group. 

The month or so between New Years and Spring Break had been remarkably pleasant, at least as their long distance friendship was concerned. Personalized emails were sent almost every day, and Sam was her regular night time AIM chat buddy. There had never been a question where she would spend her spring break, and although Adam had taken offense, the relationship had deteriorated to the point where she was sure he would be banging some hero worshiping freshman at the first opportunity in the bathroom of Margarita Jones in Cabo. 

Not that Brooke had a problem with that. Adam, dumb jock he sometimes could be, deserved more than a barely interested girl who would rather chat than make out. Brooke had the strong suspicion that she was getting a reputation for being frigid, and as much as she hated the idea, she couldn't muster the energy to even try to fight it. 

The fact was, she had read those books she had given to Sam, and they had made her wetter and hotter than thirty minutes of Adam settled between her legs. 

Maria had a dancer's body, tight and compact, and she didn't have a high sense of modesty, and because of that, Brooke had more than ample opportunity to look at rose bud colored nipples and perfectly portioned breasts, lean thighs and tight asses. Her sex drive was definitely not frigid, but her unexpected kiss with Sam and the thrill that resulted had given her license to admit, her desires weren't with Adam. 

It was an unstated want, and just like her love of Sam, lay buried deep inside of her, because Brooke already had a label, given to her by everyone, including Sam. She was the straight step sister, the pretty blonde one who would eventually marry some wealthy and talented football star. Sam was the gay one, she had taken that from her by having the courage to admit it, and because of that, Brooke's secret was all the more illicit. 

She was sure that a part of that contributed to her conflict. She was a bundle of nerves, and she knew she would see Sam for the first time since the day after she had kissed her, and with her would be Rebecca, who she had seen pictures of: a beautiful, red-haired girl with a thin mouth and piercing blue eyes. 

Her breath was shallow, her palms were sweaty, and when, through the noisy crowded baggage claim, she heard a familiar laugh, a spike of emotion hit her so hard she nearly turned around and headed back towards departing flights. 

Biting her lower lip for strength, Brooke straightened up and pasted on a smile, and began to walk, around a group of guys who were shoving and jostling each other, around a Cuban family chattering to each other in Spanish, and toward a group of about five girls, waiting in a corner in various states of casual wear. In the fore front, back to her, was a familiar brunette, and beside her, was that redhead. 

It was Rebecca who saw her first, who nudged Sam's shoulder to get her attention, and forced her to finally see Brooke, coming closer all the time. 

Through it all, Brooke's smile was polite, forced, until Sam's dark eyes met her own, and then all there was was happiness, because Sam's grin was sincere. 

"HI!" Sam looked a little too pale, probably a gift from the frigid Northwestern climate, but gorgeous, just the same. Dropping her suitcase, Brooke was lucky enough to get a hug and a familiar whiff of perfumed lavender. "Sorry! You were early!" 

"Blame American Airlines," Brooke said, squeezing her forearms. Her friends crowded around them, and then Brooke felt awkward again, feeling the study of some intense scrutiny. 

"Oh, right. Intros." One hand still on her shoulder, Sam turned around and began to point, singling out each friend one by one. "So, that's Mallory. That's Jess over there. Christelle is the chick who needs a hair cut." Christelle answered that with a very polite middle finger pointed at Sam. "She thinks she's Shane," Sam told Brooke pointedly, as if Brooke would have any idea what that meant. "And umm… there's Abby, and of course… Rebecca." In the corner, Abby twiddled her fingers, and beside her Rebecca smiled. "You guys? This is Brooke." 

"Finally!" Rebecca laughed, and came forward, wrapping her arms around Brooke in an entirely too friendly hug. "It seems like I already know you!" 

"Likewise," she managed, extracting herself as politely as she could. 

"She's gorgeous." That comment came from Abby, and Brooke couldn't miss the glare that Sam threw in her direction. "You didn't tell us she was so hot, Sam." 

"Abby, seriously. She's straight," Sam snapped, as if she had had this conversation before. "Behave." When Brooke glanced at her oddly, Sam leaned forward, and under her breath, explained, "Sorry. She's umm… well… she's a gay Nicole." 

\--

Sam's friends weren't sorority types, that was quite clear. While they were an attractive bunch, they were all different, and a little less immaculate about their appearance. Mallory and Jess, obviously a couple, looked like twins, with equally boyish short cuts and athletic bodies. They seemed an indivisible unit, and Jess appeared to be the spokesmen for them both. Mallory seemed content to simply observe, and when she had a comment would whisper it quietly into the more outspoken Jess' ear. Christelle was decidedly butch, and a little sullen to boot. Still, she had a nice smile when she bothered to show it, and appeared to be gentlemanly as well, making a point of opening the door for Brooke and the other girls at every opportunity. Mostly, she hid behind the shaggy bangs of her hair, and even though the others called her 'Don Juan', Brooke had a hard time believing it. 

It was a little ironic that of Sam's friends, she appeared to be the most femme of the group, Rebecca and Abby following in closely. Sam was the most attractive of the bunch, at least in Brooke's love addled eyes, but she had to grudgingly admit that Rebecca had her own unique red-headed glamour. And she clearly seemed to adore Sam. It seemed that no matter what the situation, in any given moment, Rebecca would find an excuse to touch Sam. Either sidling up behind her, sliding a possessive palm onto her hip, or running her fingertips up and down Sam's forearm, or pressing a gentle kiss on the nape of Sam's neck while Sam was speaking, Rebecca always seemed to make a pointed note that Sam and her were together. 

Brooke had been prepared for it. It had been a given, when she had agreed to visit with Sam during this spring break, that she would have to see Sam and her girlfriend in a romantic clinch. Unfortunately, she hadn't expected to get pelted with it every half second. The uneasy feeling in her stomach had grown from nausea to something a little worse, and it was hard to maintain her easy smile when she began to suspect that Rebecca was doing everything but peeing on Sam to mark her territory. Sam seemed bewildered by the attention, and it gave Brooke pause. 

In the cab ride to the motel, Rebecca looked at her, a scrutinizing stare that made her feel like she was being tried and judged. At that moment, she finally had to look away, irritation boiling up in her irrationally. It was then that she truly noticed Abby. 

Despite Sam's assertion that Abby was the gay version of Nicole, she bore none of her physical traits. Abby was a brunette, with green eyes and a wide smile. She was tall and slender, and knew her designers and how to color coordinate. And she was staring at Brooke. 

The undisguised attraction was hard to ignore, and facing it full on, Brooke found herself suddenly breathless. Her fingers clenched together in her lap, and self consciously, she began to fuss with her hair. 

It was going to be an interesting break. 

\-- 

"So umm…. I know it’s not much," Sam said, elbows resting on Brooke's suitcase as Brooke inspected her side of the adjoining motel rooms. "And I hate you put you with Abby and Christelle, but... Rebecca and I…" 

"You need your space," she finished lightly, crossing her arms and heading toward the open balcony, looking over the crowded boardwalk. Looking back at Sam, she grinned reassuringly. "It's fine, Sam." 

Sam stared at her, clearly not sure if it WAS okay. "I don't want you to think I dragged you a few thousand miles to pawn you off on my friends." 

"I don’t think that," she assured her. 

Sam let out a long breath, and suddenly slouched, eyes rolling up to her head before she whimpered, head in her palms. 

"Sam?" Immediately flooded with concern, Brooke moved fast, leaning down in front of the luggage, one open palm on the back of her step sister splayed on top of it. "What's up?" 

Letting out an animal sort of grunt, Sam immediately jerked her head up, brunette strands flying back. Her brown eyes looked up at her pleadingly. 

"We're having issues," she admitted. 

Brows furrowing, Brooke sank onto the double bed she was assigned, trying hard to get her heart out of her throat. "You and Rebecca?" she managed. "Because you two looked like…"

Releasing an audible sigh, Sam straightened, hands on her hip. "She's… she wants more." 

"More than what?" 

"More than what I'm giving her," Sam said, and sank down beside her, hands pressed on either side of her, curled around the edge of the bed. "She's been out since she was in high school, and she says she's had enough casual girlfriends. She wants something more serious than that. She wants me to move in with her, at least till the summer." 

As that sunk in, Brooke blinked, suddenly incensed. "Sam, you're 18! This is your first serious relationship!" 

"I know," Sam said, licking her lips in her agitation. "And she used to be so cool about it, but ever since Christmas she's just… I don't know, it's like something's changed." 

"Well, whatever it is, it's her problem, not yours." Sam looked at her pleadingly, and Brooke sighed, fingertips kneading the bridge of her nose, trying to calm herself down. "Boy or girl, Sam, your … lover… should never pressure you into anything." 

"I know. In theory, I know, but honestly, Brooke, I don't understand what's wrong with me. Why can't I just move in? I don't even know what's holding me back." Falling back onto the cheap bed, Sam fell into a desperate sort of silence, completely frustrated. "I know she's being unreasonable, but logically? Why can't I?" 

Sitting straight up, Brooke looked down upon a beautiful, confused girl. Sam looked miserable, and Brooke had no idea what to say to her. She had to be the wise sister, not the jealous would be lover, and it was a hard line to define. 

Hesitating, Brooke reached out a hand, ready to take Sam's, comfort her with touch. But awareness of Sam had taken on a sexual notation, and just the feel of fingertips against hers… She shied back, reminding herself harshly that she was here as a sister to Sam. Eyes on the carpet, she pressed her lips together, making a point of keeping her palm flat against the bed. 

Seconds later, soft fingers tickled her palm, and Brooke glanced down, to find Sam's fingers burrowing under her hand, until digits were entwining with her own, clasping them gently. 

"Brooke," came the soft whisper. "I need help." 

Just like that, she melted, her insides liquefying into a pile of goo. It was pathetic, really. With a resigned sigh, she settled back onto the bed, resting on her elbow, and lovingly smoothed an errant bang off of Sam's forehead. "Whatever you do, don't do it to prove something, okay?" Earnest doe eyes stared up at her. "Sam, I slept with Josh to prove something, and I wasn't ready for it, and it was a nightmare, remember?"

Intimacy with Sam was always spellbinding, and Brooke found herself drawn into the intense stare, the moist lips. 

"Doesn't speak much of Josh," Sam whispered conspiratorially, and Brooke chuckled alongside her, tightening her hold on her palm and retracing the line of her face. 

"No, it doesn't." 

"Wow." The foreign voice, interjected at that charged moment, did its work, and spell broken, Brooke flushed, glancing up to find an entirely too interested Abby standing just inside the doorway. Disentangling herself from Sam, she kept a wary eye on the other girl. Abby dropped her bags on the floor, picked up immediately by an incoming Christelle, who shot her a glare and put them carefully beside the bed. "If I didn't know better I would think Rebecca had some competition." 

"Shut up, Abby," Sam said, rising up to her elbows. "Where is she, anyway?" 

"Getting the rest of the stuff," Christelle mumbled, already setting up camp on the single bed, kicking off her doc martins. "You don't mind if I take this, do you?" she asked Brooke. "I can't sleep with anyone." 

"Ironic, if you ask me, considering the trail of broken hearts at Northwestern," Abby chirped. "Guess you're stuck with me, Brooke."

"Abby, seriously. She's straight. Back off." Sam shot her a sympathetic apologetic shrug. Eyes drawn back to the clearly magnetic Abby, Brooke only smiled mutely.

"You'll have to excuse Abby." Appearing in the doorway, Rebecca slapped a hand onto Abby's shoulder. "She likes to be contrary. She thinks it's cute. It’s not, by the way," she added pointedly. Grabbing hold of Sam's hand, she hauled her up and immediately pressed a kiss to Sam's lips. 

Brooke turned away, pretending to be distracted by the hard bodies now cavorting below the balcony. 

"So what now?" Abby asked. "I got the skinny from this chick downstairs? There's an awesome party over in South Beach." 

"Guys, we're gonna do straight stuff too," Sam said, and Brooke glanced back when everyone stared at her, the elephant literally in the room. "We're gonna do the beach and the parasailing, and the shopping, and not everything is going to be about eye-fucking, okay Abby?" 

"What crawled up Sam's butt?" Christelle sniffled. 

Brooke smiled uncomfortably. "You guys can do you whatever you want. I can do whatever, it's fine." 

"Brooke, you came to hang out with me," Sam reminded her. 

"And seriously, Brooke, it's fine," Rebecca told her, sinking down on the bed. "I don't want you to think we're some sort of gay cult. We are capable of doing things that aren't defined by our sexual orientation. Besides, Abby's bi." 

Abby gave her a ridiculously cheesy grin. "All else fails, we oogle the hard bodied men together." 

Sam's look was pained, but Brooke couldn't help but smile back. 

\-- 

Abby was a junior, who, in an incestuous twist, had come into the group by banging Rebecca. 

"It was a couple years ago," she told her, the next day, as they lay side by side on adjoining towels on scorching sand. "Your regular one night stand, but she never left. We never slept together again, but I'm happier that way. She's got an Irish temper. I don't envy Sam." 

Shades on, Brooke made sure to keep her expression as neutral as possible. Crossing her forearms underneath them, she used them as a makeshift pillow, resting her chin as she eyed the frolicking Sam and Rebecca, fighting playfully in the waves with the rest of the swimmers. 

Sam wore a red bikini, and she wore it well. Her brunette hair was dripping wet, and it provided for an extremely interesting distraction, as Brooke allowed herself to linger, under the pretense of curiosity. 

"Any relationship takes work," she replied, "But Rebecca should probably put on a little more sunscreen or she's going to be red all over." 

Beside her, Abby chuckled, using her pink to draw her shades down long enough to give her a look. "I'm sure Sam wouldn’t mind that job." Brooke didn't respond, but it didn't deter her neighbor. "You know, I think it's really cool of you to blow off your friends to spend some time with your sis."

"Step-sis," she corrected, and then felt foolish. Mouth turning down bitterly, she dug her elbows in the towel, and turned over, so the hot ray of the sun now burned down onto her exposed belly. "And I didn't mind." 

A wolf-whistle caught her attention, and peering through her sunglasses, she discovered a group of bare chested demi gods, walking past them, silly grins making no secret their interest.

Abby seemed amused at least, and Brooke found herself grinning as well, tossing her a sly grin before a dark-skinned tall one in blue trunks holding a volleyball was shoved more or less in their direction. 

"Ladies!" he called out. "Feel like some volleyball?" 

"Oh, he wants more than volleyball," Brooke muttered under her breath. Abby sat up, appraising him. 

"Why wouldn't he? We're two of the hottest chicks on the beach." Sliding off her glasses, she arched an eyebrow. "What do you think?" 

Brooke glanced back toward the water, to Sam. The unknown object of her affection clearly only had eyes for her girlfriend. 

That's great, Brooke, she suddenly thought. Spend your Spring Break mooning over your horribly inappropriate crush or actually have some fun. 

Ignoring the small flare of pain in her chest, Brooke drew in her breath and allowed herself a brilliant smile. 

Sitting up, she eyed the boy, and with a flirtatious smile, winked at her new partner-in-crime. "Let's do it." 

\--

Despite her frail appearance, Brooke knew how to play the game. She was tall, and scrappy, and paired with the fiercely competitive Abby, she was suddenly in her element. 

The boys, who at first, seemed more interested in their bouncing lady bits than the actual game, soon found themselves actually trying, and cursing more than once. 

And Abby was fun. She was lively and witty and attractive. They made a good pair, and after her third spike, Brooke realized she was actually laughing. 

Incidentally, she had also forgotten about Sam, until half an hour later, when she came off the court, laughing and chatting with Doug, a starting guard at Ohio State, and nearly ran straight into her. 

"Hi!" Smile lingering, Brooke grabbed hold of another hi-five from one of Doug's friend, before realizing than the look on Sam's face was less than thrilled. "What's up?" 

"Nothing," Sam said, and Brooke frowned slightly. 

"Okay…" 

"Hey, Kerri Walsh!" Large hands came down on her shoulders, and Doug squeezed playfully. "What do you say you and Misty May over there stop by the hotel later? We got an open bar." His eyes lingered on Sam's rather fine form. "Bring your friend if you want." 

"Umm… she's taken, so behave," Brooke said, tweaking his nose, "And I'll keep that in mind!" 

"Right, well, I gave Abby my cell, so CALL US, okay gorgeous?" Grinning, she nodded, and laughed when he suddenly did a backflip, spraying her with sand. 

"You're not actually going, right?" 

Blinking, Brooke found herself drawn back to Sam. "What?" Sam's brown eyes were obnoxiously judgmental, and they were a damper on her happy state. "What's wrong with him?" 

"Their hotel? Open bar? Brooke, that screams date rape." 

She sighed, smile becoming strained, as Sam's arms crossed in front of her, salty hair pulled back to further heighten her stony expression. "I'm not actually GOING, okay? But even if I did, what is so wrong with it? God, it's not like I'd be alone." 

"Brooke!" Skidding to a stop beside them, Abby was breathless, eyes sparkling with mirth. "So I was talking to one of the guys? And they're going bungie jumping! They totally just invited us." 

"Guys, we're actually LEAVING," Sam snapped. 

Abby blinked, and when Brooke just shrugged, she picked a nonexistent bit of sand of Sam's shoulder. "Oh come on, Sammie. I haven't had a hot girl to bond over guys with in forever! You guys are all, together and boring and I can't exactly flirt with dudes with Christelle! Let me HAVE her for a while!" 

"Let you have her?!" 

For some reason, having her first reasonable good mood since she had arrived become soured by the suddenly pissy Sam was making her a little annoyed.

"Abby, can I talk to Sam alone please?" Eyes rolling up to the top of her head, Abby brought her shoulders up and backed away, presumably to join Sam's friends, already waiting nearby. 

Alone, Brooke tried to regain her clarity, staring down at the suddenly pouty Sam. 

"Okay, what's up?" she began, in an attempt to stay rational. 

"What's up? Brooke, I WARNED you about her!" Sam said, thrusting a palm out to her. "Gay Nicole, remember?!" 

"Umm, BI-Nicole," Brooke corrected, "And I liked Nicole!" 

"Yeah, right up until she tried to KILL you!" 

"Sam, what is the big deal? I'm having FUN, it's Spring Break, and I'm allowed." 

"Yes, but you're supposed to have fun with me, remember?" 

"Oh." Crossing her arms, Brooke arched a skeptical eyebrow, suddenly incensed. "Am I supposed to just WAIT around for you until you decide you want to spend time with me? Because the entire trip thus far you have been attached in some form to Rebecca, and honestly, the lip on lip Siamese twin thing, is starting to get a little old." Sam's mouth dropped open, and Brooke felt a twinge of validation, wounded heart beating harder in response. "You can't expect me to linger like some third wheel, Sam. It's not fair." 

Sam literally groaned, and Brooke's eyes narrowed when the other girls hands came up to cover her face, pressing them into her flesh in frustration. "You know what? Fine. Go have fun with Abby. Go be straight sluts together."

"Fine," Brooke said tightly, "Have fun with Rebecca and your U-Haul." 

Throwing her hands up at her, Sam glared at her, stomping away in the sand. As she walked away, Brooke shut her eyes and sighed, a chill flooding her spine. 

When she opened them again, Sam had grabbed hold of Rebecca's hand, and was leading her away. 

To hell with her, she thought bitterly, and turned back to an approaching Abby. 

At least for the night. 

\--   
  


She awoke slowly and with resistance, mostly in part to the completely heinous aftertaste of beer in her mouth and the fact that two drills seemed to be trying to pick apart her skull. 

She felt heavy, and sluggish, and most of her senses refused to work. What did, she wished didn't. 

It was the most horrible feeling in the world, and … she was fairly certain she had thrown up at some point. 

Blinking, Brooke slowly felt herself come alive, body aching, as uncertainty created a damp fog over her reality. 

She saw one arm hanging over her bed, and she was fairly certain it was hers, because the fingers moved when she willed them to. Her hair hung in her face, and it made it impossible to see much, but she had definitely made it back to her bed. The twin bed, across from her, barely made out with her struggling peripheral vision, was empty and made. 

There was also something pinning her to the bed.

Brooke winced, digits digging into her bangs, as she struggled to move, and it was then she realized there were no blankets on the bed. 

She also, incidentally appeared to be naked. 

A sharp, nagging fear began to germinate, and Brooke sucked in a harsh breath, fogginess giving way to alert paranoia as she arched her neck and looked behind her. 

Plastered against her, was a naked body, long brunette strands piled lewdly against her, obscuring the face. 

Oh, God. 

"Ummm…" her throat was hoarse, and the headache pounded, and suddenly remnants of the night before began to crash into her brain, like painful lightning bolts. 

Slender fingers threading through her hair, slamming her lips hotly against her own, tongue plunging inside for a bitter taste.

The body stirred, and Brooke's paranoia almost became hypoventilation, as Abby began to rub against her, groaning oddly. 

Fingers jerking at the halter top, jerking it down almost angrily to display perfect breasts

"Oh, shit," she breathed. 

Abby froze, and slowly, her partner managed a hesitant, "Brooke?" 

"Oh, shit," she said again. 

"Oh, God," Abby groaned, and then she shoveled off of her. "Did we-" 

"Yeah, I think we did," she managed. 

"Was it good?" 

"I think so," she said, her voice a strangled pitch. Scrambling for a sheet, Brooke fumbled off the bed. 

Abby sat up, pulling strands of hair out of her eyes, still insanely naked. "Oh, Fuck! Sam's going to kill me." 

"Listen, Brooke, I need you to wake up, because I've been thinking and… " 

It was, of course, at that moment, that Sam had chosen to walk in.


	5. You Begin To Wonder Why You Came

There had been several moments in Brooke's short but colorful life where she wanted the earth to open up and swallow her whole.

Never before had she wished so fervently that that exact thing would happen, and that a roaring fire would also come up from the bowels of hell and incinerate her to boot.

The horror that she felt had mingled nicely with the panic, and it had left her dumb and frozen, standing helplessly in nothing but a sheet as Sam wavered in the room, absorbing everything.

Luminous brown eyes took her in, following the line of her body from the toes to her horrified, guilty expression, to the unmade bed and the other naked girl sitting on top of it.

It seemed as if they were all frozen in time, and Brooke had no idea how to snap any of them out of it.

"Okay..." Abby began, scooting on all fours off the bed, taking care to always be facing their intruder. "Sam, this isn't what it looks like. Okay, it is, but..."

Shaken out of her shock, Sam suddenly came to life, heading moving side to side before her mouth opened and closed and then, suddenly, she back pedaled out of the room, shutting it with a slam.

Throat dry, Brooke managed only a surprised squeak, so it was Abby, blinking and straightening, reaching for a comforter, who managed the obvious. "That went better than I thought it would."

Immediately, Brooke was treated to a second heart attack when the door slammed open again, and Sam barged back in.

"NO!" she barked, eyes red and face impossibly flushed. "No. NO NO! You do NOT get off this easy."

"Sam," she managed, raspy and thick. "I didn't-"

"NO!" Sam said again, bright eyes gleaming with rage. "I told you to lay the hell OFF of her," she snapped, and her voice was LOUD, so loud that Brooke found herself staring wide-eyed at the door.

"Sam," she tried again, "If you want to do this, maybe we should shut the-"

Those dark eyes turned on her. "How could you do this?! WHY? BROOKE?! WHY WITH HER?!"

In the midst of covering herself, Abby found the moment to take exception. "What the hell does that mean?!"

Brooke tried hard to force the lump of emotion past her throat, and found her horror mounting when the commotion attracted both Jess and Mallory, in varied states of sleepy casualness, and Christelle, keys in her hand, fully clothed and wide-eyed beneath her dirty bangs. The girls crowded in the door, and Brooke could only draw her sheet around her further.

"What the hell do you THINK it means, Abby?!" Sam snarled. "I asked ONE thing from you. ONE. All I asked you to do was to stay the hell away from Brooke-"

"Because you OWN her?!" Abby shouted back, no longer caring she was naked.

Arms crossed over her breasts, Brooke was especially distressed to discover that Rebecca was now in the doorway as well.

"What's going on?" she asked, and Sam glanced back at her for only a half a second, before ignoring her, instead stepping toward Abby.

"Well, that's what this about, right? Abby? You had to bang Brooke because I said you couldn't."

A prickle of insecurity wormed it's way into irritation. "You know," she managed, voice steadying. "I am in the room. I can speak for myself."

"Exactly," Abby agreed, colored eyes blazing, back straight, shoving an arm in her direction. "And if I remember correctly, I'm not the one that started it!"

Just like that, all attention shifted to her. Her headache was rapidly overcoming anything else, and Brooke brought a palm to her flushed cheeks, staring hopefully at the floor. Nothing. No crack, no swallowing her whole.

"You're lying," Sam whispered, deadly even, and Brooke's head shot up.

"No, Sam," she managed, as poised as she could be, naked and hung over. "She's not."

Just like that, she remembered. She remembered the liquor and the walk home, she remembered the heavy flirtation and she remembered pressing Abby against a building, furious and drunk and suddenly uncaring.

Sam only stared at her, and Brooke found herself suddenly trying hard to resist the urge to cry.

"Sam," she tried, private and soft, trying to plead with her with her eyes. "Sam, just listen-"

"What is the big deal anyway, Sam?" It was Rebecca that broke in, stepping into the room. "She's your sister, not your god-damned girlfriend."

"She's not my sister," Brooke broke in, only to realize Sam had just said the exact same thing. Staring at her in surprise, Brooke tried to look for any expression that would give her any hope in discovering what Sam was feeling, but all she saw was that overwhelming anger.

"You know, I think we should go," Brooke heard Christelle say, before Mallory smacked her on the shoulder, effectively shutting her up.

"That's what this is about, isn't it?" Abby said suddenly, realization dawning into her tone. Brooke stared at her beseechingly, but her partner didn't look in her direction, too lost in her battle with Sam. "It's not about fucking your sister. This is about the same thing that it's always been with you, isn't it, Sam?"

"Shut the hell up, Abby," Sam said, dark and dangerous, and Brooke, like the others, was lost in the sudden tension.

"You're pissed for the same damn reason that you've always had a problem with me. You can't stand the fact, that just like Rebecca, I got there first."

"You bitch!" It was enough. Sam lunged, and Brooke's sheet dropped as she scrambled over the bed, wrapping a long arm around Abby's naked waist, ducking to keep out of the way of the flailing limbs as Abby fought back, violent and furious.

"You guys!" she barked, dragging Abby back. "STOP IT!"

Rebecca had managed to grab hold of Sam, wrapping both hands around Sam's waist and scrambling back, working as furiously as Brooke to try to get them separated.

And suddenly, Rebecca had had enough.

"That's it," she snapped, dropping Sam so suddenly Sam nearly landed on her ass, hands up in a surrendering position. "Kill each other. I don't care."

"Rebecca," Sam managed, but the blazing green eyes only stared at her with a vivid sort of fury.

"And YOU," she hissed, pointing a finger at her girlfriend. "Stay the HELL away from me."

Arms still around the suddenly lax Abby, Brooke stared helplessly as Sam looked at them both, and suddenly scrambled to her feet, chasing after Rebecca.

The room was dead quiet.

Breathing hard, Brooke released Abby, sharing a long, intense stare with the other girl, before she realized they still had an audience.

When she looked at the three girls in the doorway, Christelle suddenly remembered her manners. "We'll just... let you get dressed," she said, and shoved the other two out.

Deflated, Brooke was suddenly weak. Palm to her forehead, she leaned back, slumping against the wall for support.

"Oh my God," she breathed.

Abby didn't say much of anything at all. Locking eyes intensely, she simply sighed and then turned away, reaching for her clothes.

\--

"You know?" Jess said, legs propped up on a nearby table, shoulder serving as an headrest for her girlfriend Mallory. "I knew adjoining motel rooms was a bad idea. I just knew it. Lesbian drama is not limited to a fourth wall."

"Abby, seriously, what the fuck?" That was Christelle who spoke up, glancing up from a book to stare down the disheveled girl who was now sitting uncaringly on the sofa, flipping through channels on the cheap television set. "What the hell did I tell you about LOCKING THE DOOR if you were gonna go insist on banging Sam's sister."

"They're not sisters," Abby snarled, glancing at her over her shoulder. "If that were the problem, Rebecca wouldn't be in there right now breaking up with Sam."

The shouting was getting ridiculous, and the fact that the thin door was closed did nothing to smother the sounds of Rebecca laying into Sam.

Curled into a ball on the other end of the sofa, Brooke had never felt so miserable in her life.

"God, this is all my fault," she managed, rubbing circles into her eyes.

"No," Abby said, turning to look at her, expression serious. "It's not, Brooke. This has been building for a while. You're just the straw that broke the redhead's back."

"No, YOU'RE the straw that broke the red-head's back," Christelle said, once again lowering her book. "It's not like Brooke KNEW what was going on, Abby. You did. And you shouldn't even be here right now. If Sam and Rebecca come out of there and see you two sitting together on the couch there's going to be a round two, and I'm way too hungover to deal with that shit."

"Then you leave," Abby barked, picking up the remote again. "I'm way too hung over to even try to deal with the sun right now."

"I knew it was a bad idea for Brooke to come," Jess mumbled. Brooke blinked, nauseous pit in her stomach literally growing. "No offense, Brooke. But... the rest of us saw this real life L Word coming a mile away."

"What do you mean?" Brooke asked, weak and soft. The entire room of lesbians stared at her, and only Abby finally sighed, turning toward her.

"Sam went from never mentioning your name at all before Christmas break, to coming back after the New Year and never shutting up about you. It was weird, and Rebecca started to get a little uneasy, but Sam was too busy IM'ing you to notice."

Brooke closed her eyes and winced, head falling back onto the couch.

"Not that we don't understand the obsession," Christelle said, trying hard to be nice. "You're very hot."

"We just figured it was a crush on a straight girl," Abby finished, and when Brooke opened her eyes to stare at her, found the other girl wearing an oddly vulnerable expression. "I think that the fact that you aren't completely opposed to the same sex drove Rebecca over the edge."

"Are you gay, Brooke?" Jess asked, and Brooke blinked, suddenly uncomfortable.

"That's so not an appropriate question," Christelle said, not lifting her eyes from her book.

"SHE'S NOT YOUR SISTER, SAM!" The shouting caused them all to jump, and Brooke found the knives sliding into her brain suddenly that much sharper. "You don't LOOK at her like she's your sister, you don't TALK to her like she's your sister-"

"Oh, God," Brooke breathed, and suddenly scrambled to her feet, unable to hear any more. "I gotta go. I completely ruined this-"

"Brooke, where are you going?" Abby asked, and Brooke ignored her, weaving dizzily to her room.

"I have to go," she said again, trying to focus on getting to the door. "I need to leave-"

"Brooke, come on-"

The door burst open, and she nearly ran into a flurry of curls and green eyes.

Stopping short, Brooke found herself overwhelmed with the presence of Rebecca, as the other girl stared at her, looked her up and down with such hurt and conviction and HATRED that Brooke found she could do nothing but wait for it to end.

And then Rebecca moved away from her, to the door of the motel room, grabbing her keys and jerking the doorknob, heading out.

"Rebecca, wait-" Already, Christelle was scrambling up after her, and Brooke was left behind, to stare at the open room, with Sam still in it.

Unable to help herself, she walked carefully, eyes on the brunette with her back towards her, staring out the window. Closing the door as gently as she could behind her, Brooke tried to process what she was about to do.

Her heart was beating so fast, and so much had happened in so short a time, she couldn't think straight. She tried to speak, and yet she had no voice. Swallowing, trying to get some moisture in, Brooke stared helplessly at Sam, arms crossed in front of her, feeling impossibly small.

"Sam," she managed, a thick croak. "Sam, I'm..."

In front of her, Sam's form stiffened, and the words died on her lips. Turning slowly, Brooke finally caught sight of tear-streaked eyes, a quivering mouth, and never before, had she seen Sam so closen in.

"This is all your fault," Sam whispered, and that sentence, just that sentence, was like a dagger slicing into her heart. "Why her, Brooke? Why out of everyone?" A lone tear began to drip down Sam's cheek, like a lone sparkling diamond. "Was it to hurt me?"

"Hurt you?" Brooke repeated, dizzily overwhelmed. "I don't under-"

"You just couldn't leave well enough alone, right? It always has to be about Brooke."

"Sam," she tried again.

"You're not even GAY, Brooke!" Sam's words were edged in ice. "And you just had to go bang the one girl I hate."

Brooke blinked, the words so hurtful, and inside her, she kept hurting, deeper and deeper. "I see," she managed. "So... forget that my first time with a girl is something I barely remember when I was drunk and pissed. Forget that I've never had a sexual encounter with another women and I might be a little freaked out about this - no! This is about poor SAM! That's great!"

"Excuse me?"

"Yes, excuse you, Sam!" Coming forward, Brooke couldn't help herself, wiping furious tears from her suddenly stinging eyes. "So it doesn’t matter that I'm confused and scared and could possibly need my sister right now-"

"Oh, please. We're not sisters," Sam snapped back, evenly and hurtfully. "I think THAT much has been established."

Brooke stared at her, stunned. "Nice," she whispered.

"And when has it EVER come up that you could possibly want to sleep with a girl? Because the Brooke I know? A LITTLE obsessed with the boys!"

"Well, you know what, Sammy? Maybe you never really knew me."

"Yeah, I think that's obvious."

She was less than a foot away from the girl she was hopelessly, desperately in love with, and never, had she felt farther away from her than she did at that moment.

"I think I should go," she whispered, nodding with her own conviction. "I'm sorry for ruining your Spring Break with my sexual identity crisis."

Without waiting for Sam's reaction, Brooke reached up and wiped at the tears gathering underneath her eyes, and turned, walking away as quickly as she could.

Sam didn't come after her. Brooke didn't expect her to.

\-- 

"You didn’t have to come with me."

Sitting beside her, doing her best to remain perfectly still, Abby moved her head an inch in her direction, dark eyeglasses protecting her eyes as much as they could from the bright Florida sunlight.

"It's fine," Abby answered uneasily, clearly nauseous. "I made the bed, I might as well take it to the airport."

Brooke smiled in spite of herself, the numbness breaking down just slightly to allow for that bit of humor to pervade. The taxi driver blasted his IPOD, some Spanish sort of funky reggae mix, and Brooke could concentrate on little more than trying to stand the hang over headache.

"Brooke," she heard, and turned back to Abby. "Are you gay?"

Licking her lips, Brooke unscrewed the cap of her water bottle, taking in a long drink before letting out a labored sigh.

"I think so," she whispered finally, and her heart thudded darkly at her in response. "I don't know... I've thought about it."

Abby considered that carefully, and then took the water bottle Brooke held out, thanking her with a weak smile. "I take it Sam had no idea."

Brooke's mouth turned down into a sour frown, thankful her eyes were covered by the dark glasses. "No," she said evenly. "I mean, I mentioned it once, a few years ago. But it was in this group and I don't think anyone heard me... No," she said again. "She didn't know. But no one did."

"Oh." Abby settled her head back against the headrest, and Brooke turned, watching the traffic they passed by. "None of my family knows." Head swiveling, Brooke eyed the other girl. "Back home, I'm just... this boy crazy, insane little rich girl. Mom would die, and umm... Dad wouldn't stand for it, so... it's why I went away to college."

"Will you ever tell them?"

Scratching at her ear, Abby shrugged, and let the conversation die.

Brooke pressed her lips together, turning back toward the other girl. "I'm sorry I seduced you, Abby. If I had known it was gonna turn out like this-"

"I would have done it anyway." Abby's grin was small, but sincere. "Brooke, I wanted to sleep with you since the moment I saw you coming through the airport. The fact that I got to was a very welcome surprise. I'm just sorry that your first time with a girl was a drunk mess of a night."

Brooke laughed lightly, and nearly cried from the release of emotion. "Well, the parts I remember were good."

"Thanks, back at ya," Abby snorted, and then fell quiet again.

"Why does Sam hate you so much?" Brooke asked, suddenly innately curious.

Abby shrugged. "For the reason I said," she said, resigned. "Because I slept with Rebecca first, and Sam knows I never got over her, and if I had a chance of taking her away from her, I would."

It was honest, and surprising, and Brooke had no response for that but a careful nod.

"How long have you been in love with Sam?"

Her first instinct was to deny the question, but one look at Abby's knowing frown was enough to let any argument die. Blowing out her breath, she closed her eyes and felt terribly fragile. "I don't know," she whispered. "Maybe a couple years. I didn't realize it until prom night, and then seconds later I got hit by my best friend trying to run me over with her car and spent two months in a coma. It was a really eventful night."

"Wow."

"Yeah," she managed.

"Sam told us about the accident," Abby said. "She said it was the worst night of her life."

Brooke's eyes closed, unable to consider what that meant. "Well," she whispered, "That makes two of us."

"Hey Brooke." Opening her eyes, Brooke turned and looked at the other girl, equally pale, equally tired. "You know, if it were any other situation I probably would have asked to see you again."

She smiled, warmed by the heartfelt admission. "If it were any other situation, I would have said yes."

Abby stared at her, and suddenly, she leaned forward delicately, and with a tenderness Brooke had never seen in her before, placed a gentle kiss against her mouth.

She tasted of beer and mint, and Brooke found her eyes closing despite herself, tilting her head and parting her lips for a sweet touch of tongue against tongue.

Breaking the kiss with a small sigh, Abby's expression was intense, visible even from behind her dark glasses.

She smiled at her, corners of her lips curling up slightly, and Brooke understood it was both an apology and a good-bye.

Reaching up, she traced her thumb along the curve of Abby's jaw, and managed a smile of her own.

"Me too," she said, and Abby nodded, settling back into her seat and staring out the window.

They spent the rest of the cab ride in comfortable silence.

\-- 

Brooke had never had a more miserable flight, and she was pretty sure everyone in the plane hated her.

Half of her trip was spent in the small lavatory, the other half was buried in a barf bag, and the other flight attendant finally got so fed up with her, she upgraded her to first class in order to put her closer to the bathroom and away from the other passengers, who all looked ready to murder her.

Not that that endeared her anymore to the first class passengers.

The conversation with Sam kept replaying in her head, and Sam's judgmental expression haunted her, and it only made her more nauseous than before.

When she finally walked off the plane, after apologizing profusely to both the flight attendants and the passengers who would look at her, she was weak, miserable, and on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

It was in that condition that she had to call Jane, and when Jane nearly shrieked at her on the phone, Brooke understood that it was not going to be a quiet trip home.

Sam's mother looked absolutely furious when she finally pulled up to the curb of LAX, face mottled with furious emotion, because she had a an hour drive to get more and more pissed off.

She stomped forward, staring down at Brooke's pale, green face. "Are you allright?" she snapped, staring at her with concern.

Brooke managed a mute nod.

"Dammit, Brooke, I don't know what to do with the two of you anymore," Jane exploded, and nearly wrenched the luggage out of her hands, thrusting it with effort into the open trunk. "Get in the car. Do you need a plastic bag?"

Brooke only opened the car door and pulled on her sunglasses, fumbling for her seatbelt. Through the rearview mirror, she caught sight of Little Mac, passed out in the car seat, drool on her chin.

The driver's door opened and then slammed closed again, and Brooke groaned, curling up as best she could.

"I can't believe it," Jane ranted, obviously still furious, fumbling with her keys and jamming them into the lock. "You have a lot of explaining to do, young lady!"

"Jane," she managed, literally sick. "Please don't yell."

"Dammit, Brooke! I just- I'm completely at a loss." Jerking the car into the outside lane, Jane swerved into the next lane and nearly took Brooke's stomach with it. "Everytime I think you two are getting closer and behaving more like sisters something happens and then you are right back where you started!"

"Jane," Brooke wheezed, eyes shut tight.

"Is it impossible for you two to behave at least civilly to each other? Are you that incompatible?!"

Brooke kept her mouth shut, intentionally silent. Opening her eyes, she discovered they were on their way to clearing the airport and heading toward the highway.

"I don't know what else to do! What could have possibly happened, Brooke?! What could have been so bad that you had to actually get on a plane and LEAVE Sam in Florida in the middle of Spring Break!?"

Clutching the plastic bag Jane had thrust into her hands, Brooke's eyes flooded with tears, weakened and helpless.

"Tell me, Brooke!"

"God, Jane, I don't know!" she burst suddenly, tearing off her glasses to display bloodshot eyes, tears spilling over. "Maybe I got so tired of repressing the idea that I might be gay that I got drunk and slept with one of Sam's friends!"

It was enough to shut Jane up, and also enough to nearly cause a three car pile-up when Jane let go of the wheel for half a second and nearly veered into the next lane.

As Jane cursed and struggled with the car, Brooke building emotions finally imploded, and helpless and furious and scared and hurt, she could do nothing else but collapse into a torrent of tears, giving up.


	6. Somewhere Along In The Bitterness

In retrospect, there was possibly no worse way to come out to her step-mother, than driving eighty miles an hour down a high way with a sleeping baby, and she a sobbing, nauseous, hurling mess.

Still, something about that moment, so broken, so alone, and so devastated, had managed to convey what Brooke would have never been able to say with words.

Fragile, shaken, and frightened, Brooke's uncontrollable sobs were her only focus. The emotion inside of her had rushed out in a torrent, broken through a dam of repression that had been building for years, and it dominated her body and her mind.

She wasn't sure how long she cried, curled up in that seat, but as the shudders became small shakes, and the sobs became sniffles, there came a quiet stillness, a minute moment of the relief that came with release. Until she began again to feel the weight of her body, wipe at her hopelessly ruined face, awareness coming back all at once, as she remembered her own circumstances.

With it, came horror.

Inhaling sharply, Brooke's eyes grew wide, and her chest tightened and she could barely breathe, as her head jerked to the side, suddenly paralyzed with fear.

She expected chaos, and instead there was only silence. Jane only stared straight ahead, fingers wrapped around her steering wheel so tight, her knuckles were white.

Brooke shifted, and realized that a tissue box had miraculously landed on her lap.

Glancing back uneasily, she discovered Mac now wide awake, round eyes looking at her like she was a horror movie waiting to happen.

It was then that she noticed Jane had veered onto an exit, and without a word, pulled into a Wendy's parking lot, conveniently placed in viewing range of the freeway to attract the traveling crowd.

Heading into the drivethru, Jane lowered her window, and then, finally, stared at Brooke. "Frosty?"

Fingers crimping around the tissue box, Brooke didn't know what to say to that.

"Welcome to Wendys, may I take your order?"

"Two frostys, please, one order of fries." She paused, hesitating, before leaning out of the car window. "Make those LARGE."

\-- 

There was a curious sort of surrealism in the quiet that existed in the car.

Still hungover, Brooke could only pick at her melting frosty, taking small comfort in the chocolately ice cream concoction.

Behind them, Mac had mushed the fries given to her into a pulpy little mess, and she ate it greedily, happily engrossed in chewing on the salty treat.

Jane had an almost scary intensity about her, methodically taking the fries that were carefully tilted between them and one by one, dunking them into her frosty, swirling them around and then popping them into her mouth.

Weakened from her burst of emotion, Brooke had no idea what to say or do, and so she simply stared at her Frosty, doing the best she could not to consider what it was she had just done.

"You know," Jane said, breaking the silence with a firm tone, that dropped the bottom out of Brooke's stomach. Swallowing, Brooke blinked, and realized she was trembling when a drop of melting chocolate ice cream fell on her forearm. "Sam does this."

Wiping at her arm, Brooke offered a hesitant nod. "Yeah, I know."

Picking up a fry, Jane drenched it in her chocolate. "I used to think she was insane. And then one day, after I complained about it, she told me to stop being such a baby and just try it." Jane studied the soggy fry. "Now, just the IDEA of liking a French fry dipped in ice cream sounded horrible to me, but I had always taught Sam to never hold any preconceived notions. So I tried it. And I liked it, though I'll never admit it to her." Jane shot her a sharp stare. "And you are not allowed to tell her."

Brooke smiled weakly. "Okay."

Jane stared at her, and then suddenly faced forward again, hands falling to her lap. "So… are you … you know… like Sam?"

The wince that went through her was painful, and the headache that Brooke had only worsened, as she pushed the shake away from her.

Unable to speak, she only nodded tiredly.

"I see." Jane went quiet for a beat, as if she was allowing that to sink in. "And um… this friend of Sam's… was female?"

Nodding again, Brooke curled into herself, sighing raggedly, trying to will her tears away.

"And I take it Sam wasn't okay with this."

She shook her head mutely. Behind them, Little Mac giggled at some unseen oddity.

"Okay. Okay." Straightening, Jane suddenly reached for the keys, inserting them into the steering wheel and starting the ignition with a jerk of her fingertips. "Here's what we're going to do. We're going to drive home, and you are going to sleep this hang over off. Meanwhile, I will… attempt to process this and then when you don't look like death warmed over, and I can't crash, we will discuss this like adults." An uncontrollable sniffle erupted from her, and Brooke shut her eyes, clamping her mouth shut when Jane veered the car out of the parking spot. "Brooke."

She opened her eyes weakly.

"I love you."

\-- 

Jane had a gentle touch, but there were tears in her eyes as she literally tucked Brooke into her bed, pulled the covers over her body, and smiled tightly.

Without a word, she left Brooke, shutting the door soundly behind her.

Alone, in her bed, with her thoughts and her weaknesses, and the aftermath of what she had done, Brooke understood that at that moment, every fear she had had about herself had been realized.

Coming out should have been a relief – a sign of courage, not despair. A sign of hope, not of heartache.

Brooke sucked in a ragged breath and thought of Sam, and the look of pure contempt that had flashed across her face.

Whimpering, Brooke had no other recourse but to close her eyes and pull the covers over herself again, determined to shut out the world, at least to keep her own emotion from drowning her.

\-- 

Sleep did not come easily for Brooke, but it did eventually come – an uneasy version of it at least, that was filled with dreams and nightmares, mingled together in an eery version of events of the last few days.

When her eyes finally opened, she was still tired, and still queasy, the rock in her stomach refusing to dissolve, because she understood that nothing would ever be the same.

Brooke had tried hard to be what everyone wanted her to be.

She had failed, miserably.

Sunlight had eeked in past the drawn blinds, finding their way through every nook in cranny, as if the world was determined to let itself in.

Turning over in her bed, Brooke stared at the empty dresser drawer, where a little blue fish would normally be wiggling at her, trying to will her into feeding him with a longing blink of his beady little eyes.

Lil Bleu.

It was a simple thought, but it was enough, to force her to push away the bedsheets and push herself up, determined to head back to her house and pick up her fish.

It was something to do, and Brooke desperately needed something to do.

\--

Jane was sitting at the kitchen table, drinking a cup of coffee, when Brooke found her. She was quietly contemplative, fingertips tenting against the cup.

Glancing up, she offered Brooke a quiet smile. "Feeling better?"

Frightened and overwhelmed, Brooke was at a curious precipice. Heart in her throat, she smiled as best she could, crossing her arms across her chest. "Yes, thanks." Jane nodded, eyes lingering on her face, trying to read her, the expression foreign and different than Brooke had ever felt.

The sinking in her stomach only made it worse, and she glanced away, inching toward the door. "I was thinking about driving down to school and picking up the fish-"

"No, Brooke stop." The coffee cup came down, and Jane's brown eyes were suddenly moist, as fingers tangled into brunette hair. Her step mother looked lost. "Sit down. Please."

Brooke didn't want to. She was afraid, and she knew it, because she loved Jane, and everything Jane had ever said to her, the hidden disappointment in Sam, it became an idea that Brooke was her safety, and that had been taken away from her.

She felt she had been doing nothing but crying, and yet she still couldn't stop the sudden rise in emotion, the tears that burst into her eyes as she shook her head mutely.

"Jane, I'm sorry," she managed, desperately pleading. "I know what you wanted me to be-"

"Oh, honey…" The woman she loved as a mother suddenly rose, and Brooke eyes shut tight when Jane suddenly wrapped her in her arms, drawing her in close. The sudden hint of affection was too much, and Brooke was suddenly sobbing again, salty tears rubbed into the sweatshirt she was now pinned against. "You listen to me," she heard, as her sobs became shudders, and Jane held her so tightly she could scarcely breathe, "I just want you to be who you are, honey. I just want you to be happy. That's all I want- I'm so sorry honey."

The emotion was so intense a lump of air lodged in her throat, and emerged as a rather unladylike hiccup. "But… but you said… you said that you wanted normal-"

"Oh, honey…" Pulling back, Jane pressed her palms against her cheeks, and Brooke looked into a tearstreaked, earnest expression. "Who am I kidding? With you and Sam? I've never had normal. I wouldn't know what to do with it!"

It took a second or two for the expression to sink in, but suddenly, Brooke found herself giggling, a horrible sounding chortle that she couldn't help, and just the sound of it set her off again, a river of snot and blubbering, and she felt so sorry for Jane for holding her and having to see it and feel it, but she couldn't help it.

She had crumpled like a torn up gross piece of tissue.

"It's okay." A reassuring palm rubbed against her back. "It's okay, honey. I love you."

Her eyes shut even tighter.

"Oh wow," she heard Jane say. "You and Sam really love to throw me some curveballs, don't you?"

She sniffled and choked and had nothing she could say to that. Burying her nose into Jane's sweater, Brooke gulped and curled her arms around Jane tighter.

"Oh, God, Jane," she managed, hoarse and weak. "You don't know the half of it." Jane froze, ever so slightly.

"Well, let's just concentrate on springing this on Mike and worry about the rest later, okay? He's got enough gray hairs, and I don't think his job can tolerate another bad dye job."

Oh, God. Brooke sniffled, and glanced up at Jane with hopeful, shiny moist orbs. "Maybe Mac will be straight."

Jane looked down at her with a beautifully bemused smile. "Honey, let's work on your logic later, okay? You need to eat something."

\--

"Lolli-POP!"

Mac's over enunciation of the last syllable was unbearably cute, but she had not yet learned the tricky art of an indoor voice, and as a result, several people passed not so pleased looks in Brooke's direction.

Smiling apologetically, Brooke shhshed the baby as best she could, maneuvering around other carts, trying to mind both the list and the baby sitting in the shopping cart.

"We got the milk," she said, wrinkled paper in her hand, distractedly trying to keep Mac from putting the ENTIRE chocolate lollipop into her mouth at once. Peering into the cart at the small pile she had accumulated, she gave Mac a smile of success. "Honey, I think we're actually done!"

"God, they're starting so young."

The passing comment threw her, and Brooke blinked, before realizing that the women who had just passed her in the aisle had actually assumed Mac was HER baby.

Rolling her eyes, Brooke curled her fingers over the sticky metal bar and pushed forward.

The day after her big revelation, in the wake of the complete chaos, had been a day of tentative peace. Without the powder keg that was Sam, the house had been quiet, almost too quiet.

At Brooke's request, Jane had agreed to keep the news of her sexual orientation silent to her father, at least for the moment. Still feeling terrible over the fact that in the past few months since Sam had come out, Jane must have accidentally stuck her foot in her mouth at least a dozen times in Brooke's presence, her step mother was being almost overly sweet – the trophy GLAAD mother to end all mothers.

Truthfully, Brooke was grateful for the chore she had been given. A day babysitting Lil' Mac wasn't easy by any means, but at least Mac was more interested in her popsicle than in discovering how she was feeling. Brooke was exhausted, and heartbroken, and while her secret had been revealed, there was still a deeper truth at the heart of all this that she was almost positive Jane would never been completely on board with.

"Just think," Jane had said, folding clothes with her on the couch the night before. "If we had known, Sam could have helped you out with this."

Brooke doubted very much that Jane had any idea that Brooke's gay tendencies included a lust for Sam, and if there was even an inkling, Jane proved insanely good at denial.

The result was a curious tightness in Brooke's chest, because yes, she had admitted it, and Jane knew, and she had promised her she would be there when she told Mike, and she had told Brooke everything was going to be okay, but there had been no word from Sam at all.

No email, not voicemail. Not even a veiled call to Jane to make sure Brooke's plane hadn't crashed or she hadn't been abducted by pirates (which, yes was unlikely, but Sam was the creative one, and if she cared enough she would have been paranoid enough to come up with that). Nothing, and because there was nothing, Brooke's relief at finally being able to tell SOMEONE who she really was, was now consumed with a much bigger cloud of doubt and sorrow overtaking it.

She hated how she was feeling – sad and hopeful and anxious and jealous, all at the same time, because Sam had freaked out finding her in bed with Abby, and the other girls told her that Sam had a crush on her – at least they thought she did.

And maybe Sam could have been jealous, and if that were true then maybe… just maybe-

But then Sam had also left her to run after her overly jealous, prone-to-freak out, narcissist little girlfriend Rebecca. She had blamed Brooke for all of it, and it was hard to forget the look on Sam's face when she did.

And despite all of it, Brooke still had to physically restrain herself from picking up the phone last night and begging Sam's voicemail to forgive her.

It was only when Mac smeared melted chocolate on her forearm that Brooke realized she had been reduced to brooding in the snack aisle.

"God-Dammit, Sam," Brooke snapped, and Mac blinked at her, as she dug into her purse for a tissue. "You're such an asshole."

"Brooke?"

Her name, said in a familiar male tone, was enough to cause a tingle to go up her spine, and frozen, Brooke had no time to prepare herself, when Harrison John stepped in her line of sight.

"Harrison," she breathed.

"Asshoe!" Mac chirped.

\-- 

Harrison looked more emo than dorky nowadays. He was a little more filled out, a little more buff, and his hair was now cut in a stylish, lanky style, bangs falling over his forehead, locks falling over his ears.

Still, his big brown eyes were as magnetic than ever, and the smile that he gave her over the counter of the local Inn-N-Out was as sincere as she thought she deserved.

"So," she said, once she had managed to locate and snag one of the rare booster seats provided by the joint, "I didn't expect to see you here."

"What, hanging with the 'rents isn't cool for Spring Break?" he asked dryly. Leaning back, he fingered his coke, shrugging. "Saving some money for summer, thought I'd just hang out with Mom for the week." He eyed her curiously. "Didn't expect to find you playing the young mother in the grocery store."

Flushing, she offered him a careful wave of her manicured fingers, turning back to make sure Mac was secure in her chair.

"The sorority makes you pay extra if you stick around during Spring Break." It was a decent explanation, and obviously not what he wanted to hear. Flushing, Brooke offered him a stale smile, and made a show of buckling in Mac.

"I thought Sam told me you were going with her to Spring Break," he drawled, intelligent brown eyes studying her intently. "She was super stoked about it."

Oh, God.

The wave of heat that flushed over her cheeks made her distinctly uncomfortable, and she was sure he could see it, the stilted smile, and the uncomfortable shift.

"It didn't work out," she said flatly, hopefully in a tone that meant it wasn't open to discussion.

Her pseudo-ex wasn't one to take a hint. "Oh really? What happened?"

Cold eyes met his own. "Harrison, it doesn't matter."

"Obviously, it does."

Eyes rolling up in her head, she felt the flutters of fear. "Harrison, I really don't think-"

"Because what I got out of Sam was, you royally screwed her over."

The sentence hit like a bomb.

Like a gaping fish, she stared at him, hands still in mid air.

His smile was a tight one. "I made the misfortune of calling her, maybe a few minutes after you had, apparently, gotten on a plane."

"I screwed her over," she repeated, tone hoarse. Looking into his eyes, her blood began to boil underneath her hot skin. "I screwed HER over?! She wasn't the one had got on a plane hung over and throwing UP, Harrison! She wasn't the one who got barged into the morning after a very embarrassing one night stand while she was completely naked!"

"God…" Shaking his head, Harrison looked mildly disgusted. "You two never quit, do you?"

"Excuse me?"

"This obsession you two have with making each other miserable. What's that about, Brooke?"

Brushing an errant bang furiously over her ear, she ignored him.

"Shut up, Harrison," she muttered.

"Do you really hate her that much, Brooke?"

Eyes widened, her head jerked up. "I don't HATE Sam."

"Seriously, Brooke. You care so much about getting a rise out of her that you'd screw a GIRL to one up her?!"

"Shut UP, Harrison." She hated that she was that easy. That the tears came so fast, and the emotion rushed to the surface like someone pulled a trigger. "Sleeping with Abby had nothing to do with Sam!"

"Oh, so you're gay now?" Harrison shook his head. "Helluva time to come out, don't you think?"

A flush of embarrassment overcame her. "I didn't say I was gay."

His finger tapped against the tabletop, obviously agitated. "You know what your problem is, Brooke? Everything has to be about you. You couldn't let Spring Break be about Sam-"

"Harrison, stop it!" Brooke hissed, one hand tightening over Mac's hand. "Is that why you asked me here? To attack me? Because, you know, Sam did a great job of that herself."

"I don't GET you, Brooke!" Harrison crossed his arms, staring hard at her. "You say one thing, but your actions don't match it. You love Sam, right?"

"Yes," she snapped. "I do."

"Right. But you come out of your coma and you ignore her for a year. Do you know what that did to her? Do you know the HELL she went through when you were in the hospital?"

Sucking in a painful breath, she stared at him stiffly. "It wasn't exactly a picnic for me either, Harrison."

He laughed, a bitter chortle. "I know," he said, as if, regrettably, he remembered what she had gone through. "And then I spent months watching Sam blame herself. Saying it was her fault you had almost died. That was when I figured it out."

Sighing raggedly, she knew she shouldn't ask, but she couldn't help it. "Figured what out?"

"Oh, come on, Brooke. Like you don't know. You think the whole world is in love with you, why not Sam?"

The words physically hurt her, and she reeled, as if she was slapped. Jaw tightening, she tried to stand up to him, but her eyes stung and her heart was beating so fast.

"Well," she began thickly. "It's great to know that college has turned you into a COMPLETE ass, Harrison. What, I throw you one bang and you suddenly think you know me?"

"Oh, you mean, I don't?"

"NO, Harrison, you DON’T! You never DID!" People were beginning to stare, and Brooke couldn't care. The tears were actively spilling over now, and with it, came the rest. Staring at little Mac, she turned to look at the boy she at one time, swore she could have loved. "Maybe it was my fault. Maybe it was just… easy to pretend…" Fingers pressed against her temples, she shook her head, suddenly furious. "I freaked, Harrison, okay? I freaked out, and you know why? Because I sat at that table with you and Sam and I realized that I wanted to kiss SAM more than I wanted to kiss you, more than I wanted to kiss anyone."

THAT got a reaction. Harrison looked stunned.

"So I walked away from you," she continued, quiet, desperate. "I walked away from Sam – because I was what no one expected, and then two seconds later I got hit by a CAR." Harrison swallowed. Wiping carelessly at her tears, Brooke shrugged. "Harrison, I hate to break it to you, but when you were dying of cancer, you weren't exactly the cheeriest person on the planet to me, either."

They fell into uncomfortable silence, and even Lil' Mac had been frightened into sitting still, lower lip quivering as if she wasn't sure if she should start bawling too.

"So, you're really gay?"

It was such a guy thing to say. "That's all you got from that?" she asked, brow rising.

Harrison was looking at her, dumbfounded, and then the corner of his mouth began to tilt, the hint of a ridiculous smile.

The laughter that bubbled up was a mixture of desperate emotion and utter hilarity at the situation, and she went with it, because honestly, there wasn't much else she COULD do.

"You're GAY," Harrison repeated, falling back in his chair, realization tinting his expression. "And you're in love with Sam."

"Oh, God," she whispered, shoulders shaking, grabbing a napking and wiping at her eyes.

"Brooke…" Giving up, she met his stare, suddenly intense. The truth must have been there, written in her face, because without another word he simply sat back, completely dumbfounded. "Oh, wow. I had no – I mean, Sam I knew-"

"You knew what?"

"That she was totally in love with you." Brooke's mouth parted, an unintentional gasp escaping, and Harrison arched a bemused eyebrow, the anger suddenly dissipating in his wonder. "Brooke, she played 'Girlfriend In a Coma' on repeat the entire summer you were in that hospital. It's a little hard to take that out of context."

Overwhelmed, Brooke couldn't dwell on that idea. She couldn't consider the image of Sam playing that song, what it meant…

She couldn't do that.

"She said…" Sucking in her breath, she tried to get a hold of herself. "She said she didn't tell you she was gay."

"She didn't have to." Harrison's smile was tired, a little bitter. "Brooke, it's becoming the precedent that any woman involved with me in some capacity will end up sexually confused. It's my lot in life." he added, when she only continued to stare dumbly.

"Asshoe!" Mac grinned gleefully, smacking her palms against the counter.

Deflating, Brooke shook her head, defeated. "She hates me. I did everything wrong, Harrison. I love her, and no matter how hard I try, all I do is hurt her. She has no idea… about me. All, she saw was some bicurious slut, just like you did."

Harrison stayed quiet, for a beat content to simply watch her, brown eyes taking in her despair. "You know… this may seem like a radical concept for the two of you… but have you ever considered, you know, actually communicating? Crazy idea, I know."

Brook broke into a bitter chuckle. "Why?" A palm fell onto the counter. "Do you actually care about me, Harrison?"

"I care about SAM," he enunciated, and then sighed. "And yes, some part of me does want to stop this vicious cycle before some other unsuspecting schmuck gets caught between the two of you like a rope on a tetherball pole."

Exhaling an uneasy breath, Brooke tried to consider the idea. But the look on Sam's face the last time she had seen it …

"What would I even say?"

If Harrison was a little thrown at the idea of Brooke McQueen asking HIM how to win over Sam McPherson, he had the grace not to show it. All that emerged was a tiny twitch of his mouth. "You could start with the truth," he suggested.

"Like she'd listen to me. All she does is make assumptions."

"Well, that's Sam's problem," he said, and gave one of his fries to Mac. "She makes assumptions. And you know that."

He was smiling, that warm Harrison grin, chucking lightly at Mac's chin, who giggled, instantly in love.

"Harrison," Brooke began, before she even knew what she was saying. When he looked at her, she smiled sadly. "I'm sorry. I owed you an explanation, and I never gave you one."

The grin he wore froze, but to his credit, didn’t disapear. "You gave me my first time, Brooke," he answered quietly, and then went silent.

Brooke didn't know what that meant, or if one really was supposed to outweigh the other, but they ate in companionable quiet, and for the rest of the lunch, it was almost like she had her friend back.

\--

Getting four bags of groceries, a case of bottled water, and a baby with all her accessories was going to be a tremendous chore, and Brooke wasn't looking forward to it.

Staring down the garage door, Brooke considered how it was supposed to be done. She could take the baby in first, but then she'd have to find a place to put her, and Mac had become quite the little escape artist. She could also leave Mac for last, but the car was terribly hot and Mac was grabby and what if she suddenly learned how to free herself from the car seat and accidentally put the car in nuetral and went skidding down the driveway to the open road?

"That's it," she told Mac. "I love you, but I'm so not ready to be a mother."

That said, she reached behind her to make sure the car seat was secure, before opening the minivan and hopping out, yanking the passenger section open as best she could.

Little Mac stared at her like she was performing a circus act.

"Okay," she told Mac, holding her open palm forward. "Stay. Good baby."

Scrambling around toward the back, Brooke fumbled with the keys, pressing the open trunk button and watching the machanized car door whir it's way up.

Grabbing hold of the twenty four pack of bottled water, she grunted under it's weight, and nearly dropped it, fingers slipping around the cardboard.

Struggling, she turned, just in time to see a blue shuttle pull into her driveway.

Curious and a little bewildered, Brooke hefted the box of bottled water, and cursed when the elastic stretched and a bottle fell out.

It rolled, and rolled, over toward the Shuttle, where the passenger door opened and it was stopped by a white sneaker.

Reaching down to pick it up, Sam stared at her, expressionless.

Overwhelmed, Brooke felt her heart suddenly thud into a panicked rushed beat, and in her shock, forgot herself.

The box of water bottles slipped, and landed squarely on her foot.


	7. There Were Times When I Could Have (Murdered Her)

_There were times_   
_When I could have_   
_Murdered her_   
_But you know_   
_I would hate anything_   
_To happen to her_   
_No, I don't want to see her_

\- Girlfriend in a Coma

The crushing weight on her foot sent a shockwave of pain that distracted her from all else.

Yelping, Brooke flailed, hopping and nearly falling into the open trunk of the minivan.

"Holy …," she hissed, forgetting the water bottles until she realized that they had all sprung free from their box and were making their way merrily down their driveway. "CRAP!"

In a flurry of brunette hair, Sam had dropped her bag and was now attempting to fish up the bottles, ignoring the shuttle driver when he began to back his way out of the driveway. "God-dammit, Brooke-"

It wasn't exactly the most romantic reunion, and in light of their last conversation, Brooke wondered how she could even be disapointed.

"Sam," she said, and when Sam glanced up, brown eyes burning into hers with angry indignation, she found she couldn't think of anything else to say.

Breath rushing out in an angry sniff, Sam straightened, juggling bottles in her arms, curled into her chest. "When the hell did you become clumsy?"

Surprise had rendered her incapable of providing a snarky comeback. "What are you doing here?"

Sam made no effort to hide her irritation. Marching past her, she ignored the question, not even bothering to look at her as she made her way to the house with the bottles. "I'll be back to help you with the rest of it."

Brooke's emotions had hit an emotional wonderwall, as if she had felt so much so fast that at this point, there was no room for anything else. Her eyes followed the other girl up the path, stock stlil as Sam fumbled with her keys and then pushed open the door, disapearing into the kitchen.

"Oh, God," she whispered, a rush of feeling suddenly flooding out, as palms came to her face, and she took the moment to try and compose herself.

Taking a step forward, she winced, and managed a hobble, doing her best to step gingerly on her throbbing foot.

"What are you doing?"

"My foot hurts, what do you think?" she snapped, and it was meaner than she intended. Flushing with her own awkwardness, Brooke turned back, eyes on the rest of the bags of food. She gathered what she could, and as Sam passed her, she stared, a testament to her weakness.

Under her unknowing gaze, Sam was beautiful. In the few days they had been apart, she had gotten a tan, and her skin glowed from beneath the black tank top and tan shorts she was now sporting.

When Sam paused, glancing up suspiciously, Brooke felt a sudden flush of embarrasment, and glanced away.

Startled into an odd pact of peace, Brooke didn't say a word when Sam, struggling with her back, grabbed the rest of the groceries and headed for the door. She left Brooke behind, something she always did, Brooke thought in a bitter moment of self pity.

"God," she whispered, and in a burst of spirit, willed herself to shake it off. Closing the trunk, she reached around and smiled at the baby girl, who was actively twisting in her seat in a futile attempt to escape. "Ohhh, munchie," Brooke murmured, immediately amused, when Mac gave a grunt and outstretched her arms, impatient. "Come on."

"UP!" Mac commanded, and like a dutiful servant, Brooke hoisted the baby in her arms.

For a moment, just a moment, she swayed, awareness of what she was about to face taking over.

With a long breath out, she turned, and shut the door.

"Let's go."

\--

It had been different before.

Brooke had never had a problem matching Sam hit for hit in their verbal smack downs. She never had to worry about being one-upped and when Sam hurt her, she knew how to hurt her right back.

But she had never wanted to hurt Sam, and now that she loved her, hurting Sam was the last thing she ever wanted to even fathom doing.

So why was it so easy?

Sam's expression was tight; her face a mask of quiet anger. She wouldn’t look at Brooke, even when Brooke was forced to move past her, depositing Mac into the huge playpen that now permanently sat up in the corner of the kitchen.

Sam's movements were short and jerky, removing the items from the grocery bag and putting them in their proper place.

Rubbing at her foot, Brooke watched her brokenly, unsure what to do to mend the silence. Her heart was on a precipice, and she was terrified, all it would take for Sam was one push to send her over the edge, to some place irreparable.

"I didn't know you were coming."

Sam visibly stiffened, before turning and pushing the can of green beans into the cupboard. She didn't respond.

The silence was maddening, and Brooke sighed, emotion going from tentative guilt to sudden irritation.

"So now you're not talking to me?" Sam kept her face buried in the grocery bag. "I didn't do anything WRONG, Sam!"

"You didn't-" Brown eyes suddenly met hers intensely, large and wide. "You didn't do anything wrong?!"

"NO," she snapped, pushing to her feet. "I didn't do anything wrong."

Sam stared at her, utterly lost. "Oh, God," she said suddenly, turning back to the counter. "You're unbelievable."

"No, Sam, I'm not." Crossing her arms, Brooke felt the flush of angry hot emotion curl over her, and in a way, she welcomed it. Anything was better than the insecurity and hurt that haunted her before. "I'm the one who took a plan home early, sick and miserable because I accidentally pissed you off. I'm the one that gave up my spring break and -"

"And what? Turned it into hell?" Sam's palm slapped on the counter. "I didn't ask you to FUCK Abby, Brooke. I lost my girlfriend because of you!"

"How the hell was THAT my fault, Sam?!" Coming forward, she heard her own voice crack with emotion. "NO," she breathed, when Sam turned away from her yet again. Fingers grabbed hold of Sam's forearm, forcing those deep dark eyes to look into her eyes. "No, you answer me."

Sam's body was now only inches from her own, and Brooke's heart pounded, desperate to hear her, desperate to try and understand why this had to hurt so much.

But Sam only jerked her hand away, stepped away from her as if she had been stung. "What the hell do you want me to say, huh Brooke?"

"I want the truth for ONCE, Sam!" Fingers digging into her bangs, Brooke turned away, overwhelmed. "For once, I want us to stop talking in circles and just get to the truth."

Her foot flared up at her, and she hissed in response, falling back into the dining room chair.

"DAMMIT," she sniffled, usually pathetic, as she once again brought her foot into her lap and began to need it, brushing hot salty tears away in distraction.

So involved in her spiral into self pity, she didn't realize Sam had been watching until her step-sister's hand suddenly landed on her knee. Head jerking up, she met dark brown eyes, staring at her curiously.

"Sam-" A beat too late, she began to speak, but eyes darting away from hers, Sam cut her off.

"Just, stop. Did you break anything?" Strong fingers were now molding over her foot, gently adding pressure.

Brooke couldn't tell. Her foot had gone literally numb with shock, and the rest of her was entirely too wrapped up in the vision of Sam knelt in front of her, bare fingers smoothing along her skin, those big brown eyes looking up at her with a mixture of frustration and aggravated concern.

Suddenly sensitive, Brooke blinked down at the picture of Sam's fingers on her foot, thin digits that massaged gently.

"Brooke."

Startled into breathing, Brooke realized she had actually gone light headed. "I'm... I'm okay, it's just... swollen."

Suspicion was clear on Sam's face. "You should put some ice on it," she told her matter of factly, and then rose, turning back toward the kitchen, jerking over the freezer door and pulling out a tray of cubes.

Sam's about face had been sudden, and weak from the emotional roller coaster, Brooke didn't know how to handle it. Her emotions were raw, and her heart was literally throbbing, and it was all coming together in such intense waves that she wasn't sure how much she could handle.

Coming back with a pile icecubes wrapped in a kitchen towel, Sam once again knelt down beside her. "Here," she said, and then stuck the freezing cold block of ice on her bare foot.

"Ow, it's cold!" Brooke snapped, jerking in her seat.

"Well, yeah!" Sam replied, and grabbed hold of her foot, keeping it in place. "It's ice, Brooke."

Brooke kept quiet, squirming uncomfortably as she once again found herself taking in the beautiful features just in front of her. Sam's eyes were on her foot, and still, Brooke's head was swimming with questions.

"Sam?" she began, voice breaking accidentally into a hoarse whisper. Brown eyes looked up, locked with hers. "What are you doing here?"

There was a moment, just a moment, where Brooke realized she had actually began to hope for the impossible. There was so much between them, so much unsaid, and in this moment, Brooke had had enough of the hiding. She wanted to push aside the curtain of hazy intention and misunderstanding and just come clean.

But the fingers slipped from her foot, and Sam's lush lips opened and closed, before her eyes dropped down and she turned away.

Brooke was lost, and she sighed raggedly, when her eyes fell onto their baby sister in the corner. Mac was happily chewing on the plastic cushioned railing of her little prison, eyeing them both.

"Have you heard from Abby?"

Casting Sam a surprised glance, Brooke placed the ice on the table, pushing herself up hesitantly. "No," she began carefully. "Why?"

Sam's mouth pursed, her brow pressed further together in a decided frown. "Forget it."

"Sam-"

The door jiggled, forcing both girls to turn to the kitchen entrance, when a distracted Jane entered the room, fumbling with her bag and her keys.

Catching sight of Brooke first, Jane's smile was a big one. "I’m glad I caught you. My appointment cancelled, so you're off the hook." When Brooke offered no expression, Jane blinked. "What is it?"

Glancing at Sam, Brooke offered a tired smile. Obviously distressed, Sam's fingers were in her hair, shifting her balance on both feet before she smiled tightly at her mother.

"Hi," she said, giving a mock wave.

"Sam." The surprise was evident. "What are you doing here?"

Sighing audibly, Sam clearly didn't want to give a reason. "I just decided to come home. That's still okay, right? I'm allowed to visit my family?"

"No, Sam, it's- it's fine, I just... I didn't expect- Oh, forget it-" Coming forward, Jane enveloped her firstborn into a hug, pressing a kiss against her forehead. "Hi."

Brooke suddenly felt as if she were intruding. "You know what? You guys, obviously have a lot to talk about, and I've been wanting to pick up Lil' Bleu for a while, so... why don't you guys catch up and I'll see you tonight sometime."

"No, Brooke!" Swiping the keys off the counter, she stepped into her Keds, wincing a bit at the tight fit. "It's late, and traffic is a nightmare."

"I'll be fine," she said, shrugging on a sweater.

"Well, if you're going to go, then take Sam."

There might as well have been a tire iron slamming into Brooke's chest. A quick glance at Sam told her everything she needed to know about Sam's feelings on the subject.

"Doesn't that defeat the purpose of you two catching up?" she asked breathlessly.

"We can catch up when you get back. The three of us." Jane had that look on her face, the scary 'I'll smile and not mean it so you better do what I say' expression that made wanting to say no that much harder. "Besides, I think the two of you should talk."

"Mom? I don't want to talk," Sam snapped, and the look that Jane gave her was withering.

"I repeat," Jane said, enunciating every word. "The two of you should talk." With a meaningful glance at Brooke, Jane moved over to Mac, and began to give her a complete sentence in gibberish.

Sighing raggedly, Brooke closed her eyes, overwhelmed.

Opening them, she discovered Sam staring at her.

Unsure of everything, she only shook her head tiredly, and headed for the door.

\--

The 405 was never not messy, and Brooke was in no real mood to deal with it.

Both hands on the steering wheel, she kept her eyes on the road, grateful for the ruin of her tiny sports car, weaving as fast as she dared through the traffic.

Beside her, Sam fumbled with the radio controls, making sure to keep the music as loud as possible in order to avoid having an actual conversation.

It was quickly pissing her off.

"Would you pick a station?!" she snapped, when once again, Sam changed the tuner mid-song.

Jerking her finger away from the radio, Sam eyed her angrily. "God, I'm sorry, my Queen," she said, over-exaggerating. "The radio is yours."

A bitter smile floated onto her features. "Good," she said, in no mood to even try to play nice. Reaching forward, she shut it off completely.

Fingers tightening around her steering wheel, she didn't stop to wonder why she was suddenly so annoyed. It was easier to be annoyed, than to drive herself crazy with wondering why the hell Sam came back.

"So, what?" Sam drawled, when the silence stretched for longer than she apparently could keep her issues bottled up. "You're gay now?"

Wincing at the flippancy of the question, Brooke licked her lips and stared straight ahead. "Yes," she answered honestly. "I am."

Peripheral vision saw Sam's reaction, and it was almost worth the sudden influx of emotion at admitting it. Finally.

Breathing in hard, Brooke tried hard to blink the tears away, swallowing down that lump of feeling. Her heart began to pound inside of her, and she forced herself to keep her eyes on the road, anywhere but on Sam.

She was sure that Sam must have been looking at her like a gaping fish, because obviously Sam was expecting any other answer. She heard visible shifting in her seat, and her knuckles grew white under abuse she was giving the poor steering wheel.

"What, was Abby that good?"

The remark brought so much hurt Brooke nearly doubled over. "God, DAMN, Sam," she snapped, and pounded at the steering wheel, wiping at the stinging droplets that now slipped to her cheeks. "Why do you do that?!" Sliding her tear-streaked gaze to Sam, she discovered the other girl staring at her with an almost frightened expression. "God, for ONCE, can you talk to me without hurting me?"

Sam didn't respond, eyes round and wide, staring at her as if she were staring at a stranger.

"Look, Brooke, how do you..." Shifting forward, Sam seemed to be struggling, and Brooke didn't care. "How do you expect me to react? It's not like you ever-"

"Forget it," Brooke sniffled, reaching almost violently for the Kleenex. "I didn't tell you because I was afraid, and God, I just feel so stupid-"

Stabbing at the radio, she turned it up, loud and pounding into the car, filling the place with sound, doing what she could to try to cover up the audible breaking of her heart.

"Brooke, what the fuck?!" she heard, a shout, before Sam nearly broke the radio, index finger jerking at the power button, shutting it off just as quickly. "Look at me."

"I'm driving," Brooke said, eyes straight ahead.

"No, you're ignoring me. I can't believe I fucking flew two thousand miles for this shit."

Brooke shook her head in disbelief. "No one asked you too, Sammy! So why did you?!"

"Damn, Brooke-"

"NO, I want to KNOW!" Brooke breathed, throwing an acidic glance Sam's way, to discover the other girl's hands on her face, clearly frustrated. "I want to know what could have been so important that you could have given up on trying to get back your precious girlfriend-"

"YOU, Brooke! Okay? FUCK." In a burst of violent frustration, Sam suddenly pounded at the dashboard, and immediately hissed, drawing her palm into her lap.

Startled into quiet, Brooke knew she had to keep watching the road, but Sam shifted beside her, and her voice was so clogged with tears, Brooke both wanted and dreaded seeing the expression on Sam's face.

Whimpering, Sam held her fist to her chest, nursing it, and when she finally looked at Brooke, her eyes were luminous pools of emotion.

Licking her lips, Sam collapsed in her seat, head falling back against the seat.

"I HATE that I love you," she heard, weak and devastated, and it broke her.

Brooke didn't respond, she kept her eyes on the road, because for what seemed like the millionth time, she was in an impossible situation and didn't know how to fix it.

So she drove.

\--

The sorority house lay on a quiet street filled with old Victorian homes, snapped up by the university when the affluent crowd that lived in them abandoned them for the safety of suburbia. They were large, nearly mansions, and they lay side by side, emblazoned with the letters of the sororities and fraternities that inhabited them.

Thanks to the Spring Break desertion, she managed to find a parking spot relatively close to hers. Still fragile, she pulled up the brake and turned off the ignition.

Beside her, Sam hadn't moved, arms crossed as she stayed sunken in her chair.

"You don't have to come," Brooke said, the first sentence she had spoken since Sam's outburst.

Head lolling over to look at her, Sam's expressive mouth twitched, before she sighed raggedly and pushed at the door, answering her by getting out of the car.

Pushing the car door closed, Brooke shouldered her purse and stepped into the walk beside Sam, turning into the driveway.

"We won't be here long," she said shortly, fishing for her keys. "I just want to put him in a baggie and then we'll head out."

"Whatever," Sam said, leaning against the wooden frame as Brooke inserted the key into the lock.

"Brookie?" Unable to ignore the pained look on Sam's face, Brooke turned to discover Jenny, a blonde haired junior, coming up the driveway with her bike. "What are you doing here?!"

Swallowing hard, Brooke glanced quickly at Sam, and sighed raggedly. "I'm just here for my fish."

"Oh.... Okay. Good to see you!" Jenny's smile was odd, and Brooke was in no mood to really think about it, as she offered a smile back, not bothering to introduce the extremely anti-social Sam.

"So what does your sorority think about it?" Sam asked, following up the lush carpeted stairs.

Brooke smiled awkwardly. "They don't know yet."

"Right," Sam said, obviously not surprised, and followed her into her room.

There was the fish in the corner, swimming away. "Hi baby!" Brooke said, a gentle voice, and without a second glance, headed for the dresser on the opposite end.

Desperately to get out of there, Brooke jerked open a drawer, reaching for the heavy duty plastic bags she kept for her trips.

"Uhh... Brooke?" Glancing back, Brooke discovered Sam standing in front of the bowl, a strange expression on her face. "That's not Bleu."

"What?" she asked, and Sam shrugged at her, obviously puzzled. Coming forward, she moved beside Sam, and took a closer look at the fish. In the champagne glass, a little blue-green fish stared up at her. "That's not Bleu," she breathed, sharing a suddenly panicked glance with Sam. "Martha!?"

But it was Jenny who stood in the doorway, fingers tangled in front of her nervously. "Oh, shit. You noticed. We were hoping you wouldn't notice."

"Where the hell is her fish?" Sam demanded.

Throat dry, Brooke stared at her, heartbeat fluttering in sudden panic.

Jenny stepped back, obviously a little intimidated by Sam's suddenly protective stand. "Well, okay... BACK UP!" she nearly shrieked, and suddenly there were two other girls in the room, all staring at Brooke with tremendously frightened expressions. "Look, we're really REALLY sorry, Brooke, but... you see... Oh, God, I can't say it..."

Allison, a sophomore with a bushy brown mane, grabbed hold of Jenny's shoulder. "See, the thing is, Brooke? We knew how much you liked that fish, so everyone was SUPER paranoid about not feeding it, and... I guess no one checked with anyone else..."

"What happened," Sam interrupted, voice firm, angry.

"Everyone fed it! Everyone! And no one thought to check with anyone else and... I guess it just..."

"We are SO sorry," Jenny breathed. "Really. I mean, we got you that guy hoping you wouldn't notice..."

"We named him Lil' Bleu Too," Allison offered meekly.

"What the hell is WRONG with you people?!" Sam snapped, but Brooke couldn't hear her.

Turning wild eyes onto the wrong fish, Brooke's hand flew to her chest, overwhelmed.

The fish in the bowl was the WRONG fish, and she tried so hard to process that, and yet somehow, she couldn't.

In her head, she knew it had to be an overreaction, because her devastation was over a FISH, but her chest flared in pain, and she lost herself.

"I just ..."

"Brooke, we're SORRY."

Sam stared at her, and unable to do anything else, Brooke only stared at her beseechingly.

"Just get out!" She heard her say, and she was grateful, as she sunk onto the bed, ears pounding, eyes watering.

"Oh, God," she breathed, and began to tremble, the grief so deep, so hurtful, because the little fish was gone, and it had been her fault.

Her fingers covered her face, and she sucked in a ragged sob.

Weight shifted on the bed, and suddenly a warm palm covered her own, fingers peeling her own from her face. Through a tear-streaked haze, she discovered Sam beside her, staring at her.

Sam didn't say anything, but her thumb grazed Brooke's cheek, wiping at her tears. Brooke's eyes closed at the gesture, and without reservation, she swayed into her beloved's embrace.

Arms wrapped around her, held her tight, and in them, Brooke broke completely.

"Shh," Sam whispered, a soft voice against her ear, and Brooke only sobbed harder, clinging to the other girl with everything she had left.

\--

She wasn't sure how they ended up like they did, curled up in her small bed, Brooke holding onto to Sam like she was a life-size life preserver. She wasn't sure if it had been hours or minutes after she had cried for her lost little fish.

All she did know, was that for once, the walls that had been built up between them from a year of misconception and fear laid crumbled.

Every single part of her was touching Sam, from their feet curled together to the hand on Sam's hip. Brooke was sweaty and Sam's collar was completely moist with Brooke's tears.

Brooke kept her eyes shut tight, afraid to let go, and for once, Sam seemed to understand. One slender arm had curled underneath Brooke's neck, keeping her close, the other rubbed gently up and down her forearm, creating soft, reassuring tingles.

Emotionally spent, Brooke's awareness was coming back to her, and she shifted slightly, opening her eyes to discover the beautiful face inches from her own.

"I'm sorry," she whispered hoarsely, suddenly self conscious.

"It's okay," Sam answered back.

"No, I just..." Wiping a stray tear from her face, she tried to push down the painful lump in her throat, head shifting down on the pillow, eyes fluttering as Sam shimmied closer. "I just... I get it. I know I'm over-reacting. I know it's just a fish."

"No one should tell you how to feel, Brooke." Sam's fingers tightened around her shoulder, a comforting squeeze. "I know how much he meant to you."

"No," Brooke breathed, and then stopped, sighed raggedly, and shook her head, trying hard to enunciate her feelings. "I mean, yes, he meant a lot..."

"Brooke..."

Colored eyes met brown intensely. "You gave him to me."

The words were said clearly, distinctly, and Brooke didn't look away. The emotion between them, charged and intimate, began to shift, and she felt herself flush, staring into the beautiful face as the words began to process, and that lush, expressive mouth opened, closed.

Breathing out raggedly, insanely in love, Brooke couldn't help herself.

Reaching up, she ran fingertips against the outline of that mouth, felt the hot breath of Sam. Enraptured, Brooke smoothed her palm over the cheek, and when Sam's eyes fluttered closed, her heart leaped inside her chest.

Eyes open, Brooke knew she would die if she didn't kiss her.

Leaning forward, a soft mouth pressed against another, ragged breath fluttering against lips, in a tender first kiss.


	8. Without Granting Innocence

An unrelenting shock slid fearlessly into Brooke, the moment her lips touched Sam's.

It was unexpected; in the wake of the sorrow that had ecompassed her before, it was almost too much. Two extremes, that made her whimper and still crave, as her eyes drifted closed and she felt the slippery velvet of soft flesh, teasing her mouth.

The kiss was barely a flutter, and still, her heart began to pound, because it was Sam.

She could feel moist breath, could taste a hint of raspberry, remnants of Sam's lipgloss, and when Sam pressed forward, just the tiniest bit, she shuddered, fingers rising of their own accord, to skim along her cheekbone, palm the side of Sam's face.

Tilting her head, she took advantage of the new position, and with a breathless whimper, hesitantly skimmed her tongue along Sam's full lower lip.

Sam's reaction was instantaneous. With an audible gasp, Sam broke the kiss, forcing her eyes open to discover a beautiful, started face, still underneath her touch, lips parted and moist.

If she said anything now, it would be the wrong thing. She knew it. Her and Sam never did know how to speak without arguing, and at this moment, this very second, if she lost what she had been given, she couldn't handle it. She wouldn't handle it.

"Brooke-"

Without hesitation, she pressed forward, cutting off Sam's breathless statement before it had even really begun. Hips rolling, Brooke curled closer into the other girl's body, until Sam was essentially trapped, mouth moving furiously against her, leg tented over her own.

The groan Brooke heard, swallowed into her mouth, went deep inside of her, and she whimpered in response, fingers threading into Sam's gorgeous brunette hair and forming a tight, desperate fist.

This time, when her tongue slipped into Sam's mouth, it was demanding, relentless, and mated against Sam's feverishly. Hands came up around her, and Brooke shuddered when the she felt palms sliding along her neck, pulling her down, further into the tight body of the woman she loved.

Fumbling, doing what she could to keep her lips on Sam's, she rolled, until hips aligned with hips, breasts with breasts, and Brooke understood the tantalizing appeal of a woman's body.

She didn't remember much about Abby. What she had, were short bursts of furious passion, flashes of heat and anger and drunken determination. There was nothing to savor, and the memory of the night before brought with it the morning after, something Brooke couldn't ever forget.

But this, this was desire, and it created so much heat inside of her, made her desperate and wanton, because when she paused, breaking free for a sucking in of air, it was Sam underneath her, staring up at her with dark, bottomless eyes.

Oh, God.

Sam's palm slid from her nape to her cheek, and when the pad of her thumb brushed alongside her eye, Brooke realized she was crying.

"Brooke," Sam breathed, a sigh of wonder, bewilderment.

With a choked smile, Brooke could only offered a terrified smile. "I love you," she managed, a whispered confession, sincere in the trembling of her voice, in the way her heart pounded.

It was desperate, heartbreaking, and when Sam just stared at her, she didn't care, because finally, she had been laid bare, with nothing left to hide, to the one person who mattered the most.

Sam's hand still lay on her cheek, and she turned, pressing her lips tenderly against the flesh. Sam gasped audibly, and when she looked back, she saw eyes darker than before, a mouth parted. Sam's hand curled around her again, into her nape, and Brooke felt the pressure before Sam's head lifted and she was pulled into a gentle, soft kiss.

Shuddering, Brooke closed her eyes, and when Sam's arms went around her, she fell into her embrace, face burying into the crook of her neck.

Sam held her, and for Brooke, fragile, frightened, lost and found, the world fell away.

\--

A curious buzzing against her hip wasn't what woke her, but rather, Sam shifting against her. Eyes opening blearily, Brooke found herself tangled against her step-sister, arms threaded around her, neck trapping Sam's arm, legs entwined.

Sam looked almost apologetic as she moved, and Brooke, still foggy from sleep, edged over inch by inch, until Sam was able to pull her arm out from under her and dig into her pocket for her phone.

Sweaty from the contact, the loss of it left her feeling curiously cold, as she watched without comment, as Sam stared at the caller ID. After a beat, Sam's mouth pulled into a frown, and she pressed her thumb against the sidekick, silencing the caller.

Elbow pressed into the mattress, Brooke eyed her, determinedly curious as Sam glanced at her and purposely stuffed the phone back into her pocket.

With the silence, came a change. Brooke had never been as naked emotionally as she had been with Sam, and now, in the wake of it, she wasn't sure what to do. Fingers tangled together, and she kept silent, eyes darting over Sam.

She could talk about it, if she wanted to, but Brooke wasn't sure what else she could say. Everything that had happened between them, on this bed, had happened because she had made it happen. Sam had yet to respond verbally to any of it.

"We should go," Sam said suddenly, and looked over her shoulder. Arching her neck, Brooke stared at the alarm clock, discovered it blazing at 10:12PM. "It's getting late."

Sitting next to the clock was the oversized champagne glass that had housed Lil' Bleu. In his place, Lil' Bleu Too flipped his tail lazily.

The sudden hurt was hard on her still raw emotion, and Brooke turned back, eyes closing, as she tried to breathe herself back to control.

A palm against her elbow distracted her, and she glanced up to see Sam's thoughtful gaze.

"Did you want to bring him with you?"

Selfishly, Brooke wanted to say no. There was a part of her that was vindictive and petty, and in that darkness, she wanted to leave the fish to his own devices, or at the hands of her over-eager sorority sisters.

Thankfully, it wasn't all of her, and with a painful smile, she cleared her throat, and blinked away the sudden sting of moisture in her eyes.

"Yeah, I should," she said roughly. "They… um… they didn't mean it."

"Who the hell can't fucking feed a fish?" Sam breathed, irritated expression growing, as she thoughtlessly smoothed her hand up Brooke's arm.

The contact left her breathless, and when she stared at it, until Sam seemed to understand what she was doing, and scooted away, untangling her feet in the process.

For some reason, her private devastation at the act embarrassed her.

Brooke knew it was a lot to ask; to know exactly what Sam's feelings for her were. All she really had were reactions, conjectures from close friends and acquaintances. Sam told her she loved her, but ...

The difference between love and being IN love was significant. Brooke had the experience of understanding that a little too well.

As Sam maneuvered off the bed and went to retrieve her jacket from it's place, thoughtlessly tossed on Brooke's, she glanced back at her.

In the small smile Sam flashed, Brooke found both hope and dread.

\-- 

She and Sam weren't ever good at talking. While she could argue no one knew her better than Sam, she also knew that Sam had seen the ugliest parts of her, that Sam was quick to judge and it had taken her step-sister years to let go of the prejudice that she had been engrained with when it came to Brooke and who she was.

It used to make her so mad, Sam's determination to see her as this shallow, image obsessed villain. She had wanted so badly for Sam, Sam specifically, to see her as a person, and sometimes she had lain in bed and stared up at the ceiling and wondered why on earth she cared so much what Sam thought of her. Sam was judgmental and mean, she had horrible hair, she refused to see beyond her own prejudices and she went through half of their sophomore year parading the 'Brooke is Evil' flag that had ruined Brooke's life on more than one occasion.

What she hated more was the fact that sometimes, she proved Sam right. Sometimes her obsession with what she wanted overrode everything else and people got hurt in the process. Harrison. Carmen. Lily. Josh. Sam. Nicole.

A summer in a coma hadn't changed much, and Brooke knew that there was a part of her that was still that frightened girl trying desperately to be liked, but she also knew that this was different.

Whatever her attraction to Sam was, it was real, and over the years, no matter how much Brooke had tried to change it, morph it, make it something manageable, it had only grown into something more. It was both mature and irrational and miserable and ecstatic and twisted and pure and it made her into a different person than she had ever imagined being.

The 405 freeway was congested, but it wasn't horrible, and Brooke kept her gaze on the road, keenly aware of the presence beside her. Brooke's new fish was in a heavy duty plastic bag, and Sam's digits held it in place in her lap.

Brooke didn't know how to start the conversation she was sure they would have to have, and she kept trying, mouth opening and head turning into Sam's direction, before it clamped shut again and she lost her nerve, and just kept driving.

"That was Rebecca," she heard suddenly, twenty minutes away from their home. Sam looked exhausted, slouched in the seat, and the tone of her voice seemed almost resigned. "Who called me before."

"Oh." Brooke tried so hard to be casual and yet, the word croaked out like it had belonged to a toad.

"She told me before I left that if I came after you she wasn't going to be waiting for me when I got back to school," Sam added, and Brooke's heart flared in both hurt and hope. She swallowed hard, and sucked in her breath, wondering why Sam was telling her this.

"I'm sorry," she managed.

Pursing her lips, Sam frowned, and dark eyes shot a glance at her from across the car. "Are you?"

Breath catching, Brooke kept her eyes on the road. "I’m sorry that your relationship had to end like that," she managed, as honestly as she could. "I'm not sorry it ended."

The statement was followed by a pregnant silence, before she looked at Sam and discovered the other girl's eyes closed, sunken back into the seat.

"She called me," Sam reminded her. "While you were loading the car I checked the voicemail. She wants to talk."

The jealousy inside her was ugly, and Brooke tried not to let it into her voice. Sam was being rational, and Brooke had to ...

God, it would have been so easy to be petty.

"Why are you telling me this, Sam?" she managed thickly.

"I don't know," Sam said, and then laughed, this hurt, hard chuckle. "Because you're my best friend."

"And what do you want me to say?"

"I don't know," Sam answered again. "I'm not sure of anything, right now."

Brooke kept driving. Sam didn't say much after that.

\-- 

Jane had kept two plates covered in plastic wrap in the microwave, with a note tacked on the door to help themselves. She had baked a frozen lasagna, and had left them healthy portions, complete with a dried piece of garlic bread for them both.

With a baby, their parents had learned to go to bed early, and the entire downstairs was eerily dark, with exception to the light left on in the kitchen.

Brooke stared at the note, and ripped it off the machine, crumbling it into a ball.

She wasn't hungry.

Entering the kitchen, Sam had changed into a pair of slim back sweats, an old cotton jersey, standard bedroom attire, hair pulled back into a ponytail, revealing a flushed, fresh face.

Brooke hated herself for being struck by the simpleness of her beauty.

Glancing away, she spoke into her hands. "There's lasagna if you want some."

"Are you going to eat?"

She shook her head mutely. "Don't really feel like it," she said, and poured herself a glass of water instead, hip resting against the counter as Sam opened the microwave door and extracted her plate.

"Was Abby really your first?"

Blinking in surprise, Brooke glanced up, discovered intense dark eyes staring at her. Her heart tightened into her ribcage, and her mouth twitched.

She nodded mutely.

Sam closed the microwave door, a little too quickly. Her eyes were on the numbers she was pressing on the digital menu, when she began again, "Do you like her?"

Brooke's smile was a tired, morbid one. "You mean, as a person?"

"You know what I mean."

Yes, she did. Brooke gulped some of her water, and poured the rest down the drain. "I think you're making more out of Abby and me than there was, Sam."

"You slept with her, Brooke," Sam reminded her, like Brooke had to be reminded of that fact.

"Yeah, I did," she breathed, and turned, fingers curling around the marble of the kitchen island, staring darkly at Sam. "And you've slept with Rebecca hundreds of times, I'm sure. What is your point?"

The look on Sam's face was probing. She wore that expression that Brooke had seen more than once, when Sam was going in for a story - looking for the why, not the how.

"Is that why you did it?" Sam asked finally. "Because of Rebecca and me?"

"What are you talking about?" she asked, suddenly afraid.

"Were you jealous?" Sam enunciated.

Suddenly feeling trapped, Brooke glanced at the corridor leading to the stairs. Sam was blocking the path. Brooke's bare feet felt cold. Her toe curled on the tile.

"Were you jealous of Abby?"

It was a stand-off, and just like every other stand-off they had, Brooke didn't want to give in. She had given in so many times already, and still, she didn't know, she didn't understand, what Sam's position was on this. It left her naked and vulnerable and after the day she had, she wasn't in the mood.

Ten seconds, twenty, and Sam only kept staring at her, with that same Sammy look, and Brooke's own want became painfully apparent.

Her step-sister, her best friend, was beautiful, inside and out, just as tantalizing as she was frustrating, and for Brooke, wanting her was like breathing.

In the kitchen, the appliances buzzed and hummed, and Brooke felt her blood rushing along her veins, in their rhythm.

"I asked you first," came the choked answer.

The bitter smile was automatic, and Brooke wondered how much more she would have to give.

"Yes," she said finally, too tired to care about the response. "Yes, I was jealous of Rebecca. I hated her from the minute I heard about her. And I hated myself because I was too scared to come to terms with what I was and who I wanted, and I hated you for being everything I wanted and everything I couldn't ever have. I've been in love with you since the moment I saw you, you and your horrible hair." Shoulders rose in a bittersweet shrug. "I wanted to be your first, Sam," she finally finished, her voice an emotional squeak.

Chin coming down, Brooke didn't look at Sam as she brushed past her, determined to ignore her step-sister and go to her room and indulge herself in a heavy round of sobbing.

The hand latching onto her fingers, yanking her back, was unexpected, and before Brooke quite knew what had happened, she was suddenly pressed flush against the shorter girl.

Brooke was breathless, incapacitated, as she felt tight breasts heaving up and down against her, looked into a brilliant dark eyes, and discovered a parted, moist mouth, a look of startled amazement, and absolute clarity.

Possessive fingers slid up her body, over her shoulders, and against her nape, and suddenly Brooke was pulled down into a hot, amazing kiss.

A warm mouth, a demanding tongue, and the intoxicating taste of Sam were enough to kick in her instincts, as Brooke let out a soft groan, invaded by the simple pleasure of kissing the woman she loved.

Sam moved against her, pushing closer, and the thrill of the feel of her went straight through her, liquefying her insides, as possessive palms instinctually came around Sam, bringing her as tightly against her as she could.

She stumbled, unsure of what she was doing or where she was going, only aware of the lips moving desperately against hers, as if Sam was trying to swallow her whole.

And she wanted more of it. Breaking free, she sighed raggedly, mouth skimming over lips and against a sensitive jaw, until she found herself breathing against Sam's earlobe. The moan she heard was like a shock to her body, and grabbing a fistful of hair, Brooke lost herself, overtaking the other woman to press her against the counter.

As suddenly as Sam had started it, she ended it, with a push of her palm against Brooke's chest, breaking free.

Eyelids heavy with want, heart racing, Brooke stared at her, wild-eyed, as Sam breathed heavily, chest rising and falling against her own.

"Oh, God," she heard Sam whisper, and then suddenly, her beloved scrambled, pushing at her with both hands until Brooke had no choice but to release her.

It was Sam who ran, away from the kitchen and what she had started, and Brooke, weak-kneed, flustered and turned on beyond belief, didn't have the strength to follow.

\-- 

"I heard about Lil' Bleu," said the normally chirpy voice, in a grave, sad tone. "I'm really sorry, Brooke."

In a fleece jacket, Brooke huddled on her porch, cell phone pressed against her ear, a tired, bitter smile curled onto her lips.

"It's okay," she said, tightly, flatly. "I... um... I guess I understand."

"Maria called me in a panic," Stephanie continued, voice low on the other end. "I guess one of the girls called her, no one knew what to do. It was my idea to get you another one, but I didn't tell them to try and slip it to you."

She shook her eyes in morbid amusement. "I guess it was just a misunderstanding."

"Well, I'm guessing from the way your step-sister let loose on them and kicked them out of your room, they got the message."

Shivering in the cold, Brooke stared up at the sky. "Actually, that wasn't why I was calling."

"What's up?" Stephanie said. "You're still coming back on Monday, right?"

"Yeah, of course," Brooke said, rearranging herself when her butt got a little too cold. "I just um... I needed your help with something. Or your, advice, or whatever."

"Anytime, Brookie. What's up?"

Brooke closed her eyes, sucking in her breath, and let it out slowly. "I've been struggling with something, and um... it all kinda came to a head this week, and in light of it, I don't want to hide it anymore."

"Oh, God, do you have cancer?"

Her eyes flew open. "What? No!"

"Breast cancer? You do not have breast cancer, do you?"

"No!" Brooke said, and laughed in reaction, unable to do much else. "No breast cancer!"

"Are you pregnant? You're pregnant aren't you?"

"I’m not pregnant either!"

"Are you sure? Did you forget to take your pill? Because I forgot once, and then I had this scare - it was the worst day and a half of my life-"

"Stephanie, I'm gay." Like a switch, the other end of the line went completely silent. "Stephanie?"

There was a squeak, and suddenly, she heard a meek, "What?"

"I’m gay," she said again, and felt her insides quiver, hearing her say it out loud. "And I don't want to hide it anymore. I'm telling my Dad before I go home, and ... I want to tell the sorority too. I just... I need to hear what you think they'll say."

"Wait. Like, gay? Like your sister gay? As in you like girls."

"I like girls," Brooke confirmed gravely.

"So like... you umm... you're sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure," Brooke answered. Stephanie gave a loud, heavy sigh. Brooke's heart gave a painful thump. "That's not going to be okay, is it?"

"What? No, God, Brooke! Of course it is!" Stephanie seemed to finally come to life. "Seriously, it'll be fine. We'll have a meeting and everything!"

"We'll have a meeting?" Brooke repeated.

"So you're gay! Big deal! And you know what? This is good! Because... um... we were looking for a gay girl! For diversity! And now we don't have to! Because we have you! And you're hot and everything!"

Brooke's eyes rolled heavenwards. "That's true," she said solemnly.

"We have the hottest gay girl on campus! That's going to be awesome! Oooh. OOH! And we can have a GLAAD seminar and PFLAAG - and oh, God, Brooke, you being gay is SO much better than everyone thinking you're frigid!"

"They think I'm frigid?!" she squeaked.

"Hazel might have a problem with it," Stephanie mused. "You know her and her old Methodist 'the gays are going to hell' spiel she was touting, but we can deal with her."

Brooke bit her lip, suddenly afraid. "But a lot of them think like that, don't they? What if she gets the parents involved."

"They won't. Look, Brooke, everyone likes you."

"Yeah, but-"

"Brookie, they killed your fish," Stephanie said firmly. "They owe you tolerance, at the very least."

She closed her eyes in a silent wince.

"So wait... was there like... an actual chick that you... in Florida?"

Brooke bit her lip, and glanced back at the house, to the dark window that was Sam's. "Yeah," she answered, her voice low.

"Oh, my GOD!" Stephanie squeaked. "You have to tell me everything. RIGHT NOW."

It was frivolous and stupid and silly, but Brooke realized, she needed it. "It's a long story."

"Oh, like you have anything better to do?"

Resisting the urge to glance again at Sam's window, Brooke bit her lip. "You're right," she answered tightly. "I don't."

\-- 

It was well past three am when she finally stepped into her bedroom, making her way through it aided only by the bright moonlight that covered the room in streaks and shadows.

Pulling off her shirt, Brooke was exhausted, and she was glad for it, when her eyes went to the bathroom that separated her room from Sam's.

She wanted sleep tonight, an escape from the frustration and the want that came with what had transpired.

Brooke was tired, but she was disciplined, so she went into the bathroom and she washed her face, blearily turning off the bathroom light and stumbling into her bed, burying herself underneath the covers.

It wasn't until she opened her eyes and discovered the figure at the end of the bed that she realized Sam had followed her in.

"Holy FUCK!" she squeaked, scrambling back.

"Sorry!" Sam whispered. "Sorry!"

"What are you doing?!" she breathed, her voice an angry whisper.

It was a valid question, and she wanted the answer, but the problem was, Sam didn't seem to know herself. Confronted, Sam could only stare beseechingly at her, and then her step-sister seemed to make some sort of decision.

Without a word, Sam peeled back her blankets, and crawled underneath Brooke's covers.

Too startled to make much protest, Brooke felt like a fish gasping for water when Sam settled against her, head tucked under her chin, arm spread over her chest, leg curled over her thigh. Suddenly wide awake, Brooke stayed completely still, completely bewildered.

"When you were in the coma," Sam suddenly whispered, into the darkness of the room, "I would visit you, and I would lay with you, like this, and I would pretend that you were just sleeping."

Blinking back sudden tears, Brooke didn't say anything.

"I wanted to be there when you woke up," Sam continued, softly. "I wanted to be the first thing you saw when you opened your eyes."

"Sam," she began thickly.

"I wasn't." The arm slung around her shoulder felt suddenly possessive. "I wanted to be your first, and I wasn't."

Sam's voice was tired and broken, and Brooke didn't know what else to do, what Sam wanted her to do.

Drawing her hands up around her beloved, Brooke held her, as carefully as she could, as Sam shuddered in her arms.


	9. Lay Down a List of What Is Wrong

Her relationship with Sam had never been physical.

It wasn't even because she and Sam weren't touchy people. Nicole had always been physically affectionate, an arm thrown around her, linking her hand through her elbow as they made their way down the hallways. She had seen Lily and Carmen and once in a blue moon, Harrison, cuddle up to Sam.

It could have been hate or the attraction, or the awkwardness, but even after they became friends, Sam had always kept her literally, arm's length.

She remembered an awkward hug, during that first year, because it was Christmas and Sam had been in a generous mood. Besides a handshake, that first year, the limitation of affection between the two of them had been a brawl that had included the entire cafeteria.

It was funny how, even now, she remembered those moments so clearly: the strength in Sam's handshake when they decided to compromise, the rise and fall of Sam's chest when they hugged tenuously, the smell of the apple blossom scented she had used and the ridiculous berries she had stuck in her hair in a misguided attempt at festivity.

Two years later, Sam had come willingly into her bed, had lain against her in a physical need to be beside her. Brown hair spilled over her outstretched arm and the feel of Sam's cheek rested against it. Across her chest was Sam's slender palm, spread out against the abdomen, fingers reaching just to the point where her shirt rode up and a sliver of belly was revealed. When Sam's fingers moved, she tickled the air, a sensitive shot of feeling that made her catch her breath.

She managed a muted smile, threading fingers through Sam's brunette hair, feeling the silky slide of the strands against her fingers. Maybe this was why they wouldn't touch - it didn't feel like this when Nicole hugged her.

"What's so funny?"

Caught, Brooke let out a sigh, raising her head slightly to glance at the girl in her arms. Head shifting so that her chin now rested on her shoulder, Brooke was treated to a beautiful, if not a little suspicious, smile.

"I was just thinking," Brooke told her, and then because she could, reached over, tracing her fingertip down the line of Sam's face, from her earlobe to her jaw.

They hadn't said much of anything since Sam's confession. There had been an overwhelming desire to keep silent, to simply feel, and Brooke understood the temptation. Too many things went wrong when they talked.

And really, what could they talk about? What else could they say?

Everything, she answered herself. There was the bubble of this night but in the morning, there would be questions, lots of them, and then there would be school, and who was to say that Sam wanted to date her anyway?

"You're thinking again," Sam whispered, and tilted her head into Brooke's palm, savoring the touch. The sight caused a sudden spike of emotion, and she smiled sadly.

"It's kinda hard to shut my brain off," Brooke said softly. "I brood."

Expressive, pouty lips turned upside down, and they were lush and soft. Brooke's palm slid over, until her thumb pressed against the underside of Sam's mouth.

"You know we should talk about stuff..." Brooke managed, when dark eyes turned darker, and the lips underneath her touch grew still.

The fingers on her stomach inched lower, and Brooke gasped lightly, when the digits dug lightly under her shirt, until the flat of Sam's palm was now pressed against Brooke's sensitive skin, smoothing lightly.

Lips caught hold of her thumb, and a rush of arousal jerked down into her groin when she caught sight of Sam taking her finger into her mouth, enclosing her in moist wetness, sucking lightly.

"Oh, God, Sam," she whispered, like she was being tortured.

Dark eyes bored into her, impossibly deep, and whatever comfort had been taken in their embrace now fled in favor of pure lust.

"Sam," she tried, trying hard to hold onto her senses.

But then fingers fisted against her stomach and rose up, taking her shirt with her, until knuckles brushed against the bare breasts, underneath her shirt.

"I wanted to be your first," Sam reminded her, and Brooke opened her eyes, unsure when they had actually shut.

Swallowing hard, Brooke tried to calm her rapidly beating heart, the blood pounding in her ears.

"You are," she whispered, wet thumb leaving a small mark as she cupped Sam's chin. "You're my first love-"

"But not your first," Sam managed, in this dark, bitter tone.

Brooke swallowed, and tried to shake her head.

"It's just so stupid. I didn't even know how much I wanted it until I saw you with her." The tears were back, in Sam's eyes, in her voice.

"Sam," she whispered, and kept her hand against Sam's chin, forcing her to look at her.

Without another word, she raised her head up, meeting Sam's mouth in a hungry kiss. Tongue plunging into her own immediately, Sam whimpered against her, desperately furious, almost frightened.

Fingers lost their seductive technique when they slid upwards without preamble, covering her breast with an almost possessive touch.

Arching upwards, Brooke could only hold on under Sam's assault, as her step-sister, her love, kissed her again and again, tasting her lips like she was starving. Her tongue swiped against her teeth, her tongue, the roof of her mouth, and it was clumsy in it's desperation, and it was different, and still, it was Sam, and so it was beautiful.

Her arms flailed, and when their lips broke for air, Brooke moaned, head falling back as Sam's mouth tore from hers to lock to her throat, breathing hard against her throat when the hand that had been tormenting her breast changed direction, sliding down, so fast-

And then Sam was there, slipping into already impossibly wet folds.

She cried out, in shock and in pleasure, and she felt Sam shudder against her, as Brooke's arms went around her, clawing at her back.

"Oh God, Sam."

"Brooke," she heard, a tortured sound, and then she was inside her.

The feeling was impossible to describe, and she needed it desperately. She opened her eyes, saw Sam staring at her, inches away from her.

"Don't stop," she whispered, and then grabbed hold of Sam's head, pulling her down to meet her lips with her own, a wet, hot embrace.

Fingers dug deeper, and she felt the press of her Sam's palm, Sam's body, jerking against her, pushing her into a rhythm. The pressure of Sam's hand slid against her clit, and that, combined with Sam's hand, the knee Sam braced behind it, all went deep inside of her, deeper, further, with each thrust.

A hot mouth latched onto her neck, and the feel of it made her dizzy, flailing in Sam's arms, because it was SAM who was fucking her, and it was... it was...

"Fuck, Sam," she groaned, and Sam only moaned again in response, thrusting harder, faster, and it was exactly what Brooke wanted, what she needed. Shifting, Sam free hand had clamped underneath her, on her shoulder, and then it came even faster, and the pressure built, when the new position put more weight against her most sensitive spot.

She was sure she was speaking, begging, but she couldn't understand what she was saying, and when Sam suddenly thrust against her so hard and so deep, she was there.

The euphoric feeling overwhelmed her, and she jerked hard, nearly levitating off the bed, and suddenly she had sunk down against it, lost and found, weak and sweaty and still incoherent.

Eyes fluttering, she felt lips against her jaw and shifting blindly, she found them with her mouth, drawing Sam into her for a hungry kiss, as the fingers inside of her still made her shudder, and then tremble when Sam drew them out of her, sliding out of her pajama bottoms, leaving a wet trail against her abdomen.

Collapsing against her, Sam was hot, sweaty, and Brooke's heart raced, grabbing hold of her lover, fingers against her hair.

\-- 

Sam had been inside of her.

Sam had fucked her.

Sam had touched her and made her come.

Sam was still in her bed, eyes shut, breathing rhythmically, still in her pajamas, sprawled against the other side of the bed, the hand that she had used to completely splinter her laid across her chest, and it smelled of her.

Brooke knew, if she thought about it methodically, that they had gotten ahead of themselves. She knew they should have talked, they should have understood what they were doing. There should have been some sort of conversation or at least an understanding before they lost control.

Sam had been possessive, desperate, controlling. She had taken over Brooke in a way no lover ever had, had seduced her and she hadn't had to take a shred of clothing off to do it.

In less than a week, Brooke had lost her lesbian virginity and then lost it all over again, because this, this she remembered. She would remember everything Sam had made her feel, and even now, her pants were shallow, her chest rose and fall, and she didn't know what to do.

God, she should naver have let herself think.

Sam had curled against her, and when Brooke had tentatively, honestly, broached the idea of reciprocation, Sam had told her that she had gotten what she wanted, and then shut up Brooke with a long, lingering kiss, the fingers that were still painted with Brooke's own wetness pressed against her cheek.

And now, Brooke was wide awake and Sam was asleep, and she was wondering why it had happened, why she had let it happen, because there was so much left to figure out, and God, her dad didn't even know-

"I have to tell him today," she breathed suddenly, staring straight up at the ceiling.

The body against her stirred, and Sam's eyes opened blearily to look at her. "Tell who?"

"My dad," she said, and began to move, rolling out of Sam's embrace to sit up, shifting uncomfortably when she realized how wet she still was.

Sam looked wanton and beautiful, splayed out on her bed, staring up at her, hair mussed and tangled.

"Oh, God," she breathed suddenly, eyes shutting, palm pressing against her face miserably. "This is not a relaxing Spring Break."

"Brooke," Sam said, looking a little more alert. "What are you going to tell your dad?"

"What do you think?" Sam stared at her, eyes a little wide. "That I'm gay."

"Oh." Sam blinked, and seemed to visibly relax, an almost embarrassed expression flashing across her face. "Oh, right."

A measured look was thrown in Sam's direction. "What did you think I was going to tell him?"

Sam shook her head mutely, and then fell back into the bed, staring up at the ceiling. "Nothing."

Brooke's eyes narrowed, and she opened her mouth, sighing raggedly. "Sam... I mean... what we... I don't even know-"

"Brooke, shut up," Sam breathed. "I don't know either," she admitted, when Brooke only stared at her.

In the silence, Brooke didn't know how to even begin the conversation that she knew had to happen.

The hand that had fucked her was now on Sam's stomach, and Brooke found herself fascinated by it. Shifting, she hesitantly reached for it, eyes always on Sam's guarded expression. When Sam didn't move, Brooke swallowed, trying to get moisture back into her dry throat when her fingers closed over Sam's hand.

The sight of it, her hands in Sam's, caused a sudden swell of bittersweet emotion. The tears were embarrassing, and so Brooke blinked them back, as she drew Sam's hand into her lap, and then brought it to her face, curled between her own fingers.

The pungent smell of her sex emanated from it, and Brooke breathed it in.

It had happened. It was real.

Gathering herself, she felt her insides tremble, and with a rush of air blown out, she looked at her lover.

Sam was incredibly still, mouth open, chest rising and falling.

She looked like a sexy goddess, all darkness and curves, and Brooke suddenly felt light headed, understanding finally, what it meant, to want to worship.

Fingers tangling together, Brooke pressed a gentle kiss to each knuckle, and then turned the palm over, to breath into Sam's palm, tongue swiping delicately against the other girls skin, heard a ragged sigh in response.

Brown eyes were nearly black, and Sam didn't move, watching her like she was some sort of predatory cat, waiting for her moment.

Shuddering, Brooke closed her eyes, and kissed her palm, mouth open, wetly painting the skin with her tongue, journey until she reached the underside of her wrist, at the sensitive pulse.

Sam's skin was salty, she tasted like Brooke, and Brooke felt an incredibly overwhelming thrill at just the idea. She kept going, ignoring Sam's audible moan when she reached the underside of Sam's elbow, laving the skin with her tongue, breathing hot air onto it and then blowing against it.

Letting go to Sam's hand, Brooke crawled forward, over Sam's body, until she had one hand on either side of Sam's head. Without a word, she nudged Sam's knees apart with her thigh, and then settled between them, carefully lowering herself onto her lover.

Staring down at her, Brooke's bright eyes searched carefully, for every imperfection, and then began to press a soft kiss against the freckle she found on her cheek. Hands came up to her waist, and when Brooke skimmed Sam's skin to press a kiss against the other cheek, she heard a gasp and felt a rush of wetness when Sam arched against her.

She trembled, eyes fluttering shut, and she forced them open again, to pull back, and look into dark obsidian eyes.

"I love you," she whispered, because she needed to say it, and then Sam was kissing her, pulling her down to suck on already swollen lips.

It was her fingers pulling at Sam's shirt, she realized, when she felt Sam's torso lift against the bed, and the thin fabric that was Sam's shirt slide briefly between them before her hands fell against naked flesh.

\-- 

She was naked, when she awoke with Sam plastered against her, to her alarm clock buzzing at 8:00AM in the morning, after she had slept for what she gathered was a total of an hour.

The sound of a baby crying was also prevalent, and Brooke, exhausted and still tingling from the nights activities, shifted on the bare mattress, sheets long since flung to the side.

It left her feeling oddly vulnerable, exposed, as the cover of darkness was replaced with the always dependable sunlight.

Sam, also naked, had buried her face into her neck, and at the noise, only tightened her grip.

"Who the hell sets their alarm clock on Spring Break?" she mumbled, shivering, one hand flailing for Brooke's non-existent blankets.

Disentangling herself, Brooke rubbed at the goose bumps, swinging her legs onto the carpeted floor, and bending for the blankets.

"I need to feed the fish," she explained flatly, and shut the buzzing off with a touch.

"Seriously?"

Brooke only shook her head, pulling up the comforter and carefully drawing it over Sam.

She couldn't keep herself from looking as she did it, and for some reason, felt awkward about it.

She didn't know why it was weird, after the night they had had. She had explored Sam, every part of her, and even that wasn't enough. Sam was intoxicating, and Brooke was sure there was quite no other feeling than the feel of Sam coming around her, her fingers inside her, her mouth on Sam's sex.

But God... it was so much. And she had no idea if...

Blinking, Brooke let out a ragged sigh and stood, grabbing hold of her pajama bottoms and stepping into them.

"You know, Brooke..." Looking back, Brooke discovered a sexy woman with mussed hair, on her stomach, looking up at her with doe eyes. "The fish can survive a couple hours without food."

God, she was in trouble.

Smiling faintly, Brooke pulled on her shirt, ignoring the slightly disappointed smile on the woman on the bed, grabbing the little bottle of fish flakes. "I'm not taking any chances." Staring at Lil' Bleu Too, Brooke felt her heartbeat quicken, and shut her eyes when hands slid around her waist, and lips fluttered against her ear.

"Sorry," she heard, breathed into her ear, and her shoulders slumped and her head fell back, Sam's cheek sliding against hers. "Seriously, just come back to bed."

"I can't." Her voice was ragged, tired. "Jane's right outside, Sam. She's going to check in on us eventually."

The world had to be let back in, and Brooke hated that she had to be the one to do it.

Stiffening, Sam's mouth skimming against her cheek was merely an afterthought.

"You should get dressed," Brooke finished quietly.

The arms around her dropped, and Brooke licked her lips, a hard knot in her stomach when she looked back to the incredible temptation of Sam with nothing but a blanket covering her curves.

"You really do know how to spoil a mood, Brooke," Sam said dryly, and Brooke's eyes rolled to the ceiling, suddenly irritated.

"Right, and if Jane came in here while we were both naked and reeking of sex, you'd blame me for that," she snapped. "Don't start with me, Sam."

Pushing past her, she went into the bathroom, ignoring the other girl when she followed her in, hopping into her pajama bottoms, nearly tripping as she tried to pull on her shirt at the same time.

"God, you can be such an asshole, Brooke!"

Not wanting to look at herself in the mirror, or at Sam as she went by her to her room, Brooke turned the faucet on, flushing her face with cold water.

So apparently she and Sam were really good at two things: fucking and fighting.

"That's great," she breathed, and then opened her eyes, to look at her dripping expression in the foggy mirror.

What she saw nearly made her choke.

"Oh, God," she breathed, and clamped her hand on her throat. "SAM!"

The glaring purplish bruises marring her creamy white throat were revolting.

"SAM!" she screeched again. "Get your hoover mouth in here!"

"What?!" Sam said, popping up in the doorway. "What's wrong with you?"

Eyes wide, Brooke began to very quickly resort to panic. "THIS?!" she snapped, jabbing at her throat. "THIS is what's WRONG WITH ME, SAM!"

Sam blinked, and then stared, and then her hands went to her mouth. "Oh, holy shit!"

"Yeah!" Brooke said, nearly hyperventilating. "HOLY SHIT."

"Okay, okay," Coming forward, Sam looked terribly apologetic. "It's not that bad!"

"Not that bad?" Brooke breathed, and then whirled to the mirror, staring at the one, two - no three hickeys that glared at her, all visibly painted on her throat. "It looks like I was beaten with a vacuum cleaner!"

"Okay, relax," Sam said, hands on her shoulder. "Everyone's had hickeys before - maybe Mom and Mike won't even notice-"

"Sam!" Brooke wheezed, nearly crashing into the mirror in an attempt to get closer. "I have NEVER ... the last time I came home with a hickey- We're not twelve anymore, Sam!"

"You had hickeys when you were twelve?"

"FOCUS!"

"Fine, fine!" Sam said, hands thrown up in mock surrender. "Okay, listen. We have several options. Er... we can use the spoon, right?"

"Right. I have a fridge and a spoon in my bedroom," Brooke snarled, and then stared again at her self in the mirror.

"-You can wear a turtleneck."

"It's ninety degrees outside."

"What about an eraser-"

"These are golfball size hickeys, Sam!" Brooke shoved her aside and jerked open her drawer. "God, dammit, Sam! If Dad and Jane sees these-"

"So they'll think you hooked up!"

"I did hook up, remember?" Brooke shot her lover a withering stare. "With you. Who I was with. All night."

"They don't know that."

"Holy shit," she breathed, and located the cover up. "Oh, thank God-"

"Okay, give it to me," Sam said, snatching it from her hands. "Shut up," she ordered, when Brooke began to reach for it. "Let me do it-"

"You've done enough, don't you think?"

"God, you're sooo clever," Sam breathed, and grabbed hold of Brooke's chin. "Hold still."

"I could always say I hopped the fence and hooked up with Harrison."

Sam's stare was murderous. "Don't even joke about that."

Grabbing hold of a sponge, Sam began to meticulously spread the make up on Brooke's throat.

"Damn," she breathed, and when Brooke glanced at her, set her straight again with a hand on her chin. "I said not to move."

"What?" Brooke asked, as Sam pushed her knees apart and came between them, an effort to get better access to her neck. Despite the situation, Brooke found herself sighing raggedly.

"I just um... really went to town there," Sam said, clearly embarrassed. "I don't even remember doing that."

"Uhuh," Brooke snorted, determined to hold onto her irritation. "You're apparently a neck girl."

"Then judging by last night, you're definitely a breast girl," Sam snapped back, and Brooke blinked, a flush of heat flushing her face. "Well, that's helps," Sam said, obviously noticing.

Fingers fidgeting, Brooke finally settled for placing them on Sam's waist. "It's not entirely your fault," she admitted, feeling awkward. "I wasn't exactly complaining."

Fingertips faltered, and Sam stepped back, eyes shifting to hers and looking away. "Me neither," Sam muttered, and grabbed another sponge.

The lump in her throat was unbearable, and Brooke suddenly moaned in frustration, and grabbed hold of Sam's wrist, pulling her back to her.

Sam met her halfway, their lips melting together, hungrily searching out each other's tongues to enthusiastically mate again. Sam was shorter than most of Brooke's lovers, and it gave her an interesting sense of dominance, allowing her to tilt Sam's head back, plunder those lush lips with a measure of power and control. That feeling was lost when Sam pushed back, pressing her against the counter and breaking free of their heated embrace to bury her face into her neck.

The reaction caused them both to freeze.

"God-DAMMIT," Sam muttered, and suddenly Brooke began to laugh, arms coming around her lover to squeeze her, because at the moment, there was nothing else she could do. "It's not funny, Brooke!"

That of course, only made Brooke laugh harder, and that itself only made Sam more annoyed.

"I have to reapply all the make up!" Brooke nearly choked. "Dammit, Brooke!"

Brooke shut her up with a kiss, and when the felt the mouth against her own pull into a smile, she broke away, wheezing, shoulders shaking.

"I hate you," Sam muttered, but she was smiling, and for once, it didn't hurt to hear it.


	10. Things You Told Her All Along

"You could say it's a rash."

With an irritated sigh, Brooke's eyes shifted from the mirror image of herself to that of her step-sister, standing right behind her. Arms crossed, Sam looked like a chastised little girl.

Focusing again on the hickeys, Brooke furrowed her brow, lifting her chin to inspect the smudged skin further. There was still some visible redness, but the cover up had benefited from a good twenty minutes of blending, and while her entire neck was pancaked with make up, the hickeys weren't THAT discernable.

"Maybe a collar," she decided anxiously, shoulders straightening.

"Or a scarf."

"You really want me to die of dehydration, don't you?"

Sam shrugged. "It's your hickey, I’m just trying to help." Moving to her side of the mirror, Sam began to powder her nose, and added helpfully, "And not a huge bulky scarf. One of those little teeny silky scarves."

"I never wear those," Brooke pointed out. "If I did go out there with one on Jane would zero in on it like I had an arrow pointed to these."

Brown eyes studied the area intently, and Brooke found herself flushing under the attention.

It was easy to slip into the two extremes – the feeling that came with what had transpired the night before, and the squabbling that was comfortable, easy. Both were a reaction, and Brooke bit her lip and looked away, somehow embarrassed by her lack of control.

She nearly turned away, ready to go lock herself into the room, and figure all this out by herself, when she caught sight of the other girl in the mirror, and in a flash, remembered three words, said in the heat of the moment.

She had told Sam she loved her… and she had meant it.

Shuddering erratically, she turned back, fingers pressing against the counter. "Listen… Sam." Fingers in her hair, Sam faltered, glancing back at her. Flashing a hesitant smile, she tried to gather her courage. "I know we haven't really had a chance to talk about this, but…"

And of course, that was when Sam's phone rang, right beside Brooke's fingers, buzzing against her for effect.

Heart sinking, she blinked at it, staring down at the little roach looking thing as Sam eyed her, obviously unsure how to take the call.

"Here," she said, grabbing the phone, ready to hand it to her, until the LCD screen blinked the name of the caller.

The name was unexpected, and it shouldn't have been, but still, the shock of it slid deep into her, stealing her breath and her movement.

Her frozen impersonation must have been a little too obvious, because Sam reached forward, and snatched the phone from her fingers.

"I can get it," Sam snapped, in a low, flat voice, and then glanced at the phone. The caller registered on her face, in the quick shift of her eyes to Brooke's before she glanced evenly away. Opening the phone, she turned away from Brooke, and shut the door.

Crossing her arms, Brooke wondered how it felt like she lost Sam, when she never really had her.

\-- 

"GIRLS!"

Jane's voice had lilted up, obviously on the edge of her patience, when Brooke scuttled into the kitchen, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible.

"I'm here!" she said, rushed to Little Mac's side, placing a distracted kiss on the baby's head. Concentrating on the handful of Cheerios currently scattered on her baby seat tray, Mac hardly noticed. "Sorry."

"How late were you up till last night?" Jane said, brandishing a spatula like a weapon, glancing up from her hash browns. "I checked in on you at midnight and you weren't even in your room."

A deep crimson blush flushed through her. "Umm… pretty late. I was talking to my friend Stephanie on the phone until like, 3. And then I didn't sleep much."

"Something wrong?" Jane paused, glancing up suspiciously. "Sam didn't do anything to you, did she?"

"Oh…" Brooke found the sudden heat intolerable. Crossing the kitchen, she opened the cupboard and pulled out a glass, suddenly craving an ice water. "No, Sam didn't… she didn't do anything. Just you know…" Turning on her heel, she blinked, swallowing when her throat went dry. "I was just thinking that today might be a good day to tell Dad. You know… before I left."

Heart lodged suddenly in her throat, Brooke waited for Jane's reaction, as her stepmother glanced up from the sizzling hash browns to give her a sad, contemplative look.

Her eyes suddenly widened.

"What on EARTH is on your neck?!"

Oh, dear God.

Hand slapping to her neck, Brooke felt suddenly like a gutted fish on a pier, gasping for air. "Um…"

"It's a rash." The words were said quickly, rushed, as Sam stood in the open doorway, eyes wide and sincere. "Right? Brooke?!"

"Right," Brooke babbled, head bobbing. "It's a rash. It's really not that bad-" she added, cornered against the fridge when Jane came to inspect. "I was hoping it wouldn't show because I didn't want to worry you-"

Jane tilted her chin up, staring at the smudged make up.

"Brooke, if I didn't know better-"

"But you do!" Sam said. "You know how sensitive Brooke's skin is. I think it was cause she borrowed my wool pj's."

"Yes, wool makes me itchy."

"You borrowed wool pj's in the middle of spring?"

Brooke gulped. "I was uncomfortably cold."

"And besides, Mom," Sam said, fingers curling her bangs over her ear. "When would she have time to get a hickey? She's been with me all evening."

Brooke tried to bite down the whimper.

Jane still looked unconvinced. "Well, is it all over your body or just your neck? Do you need to see a doctor?"

"No doctor!" she squeaked. "Really, Jane. It should clear up in a couple days, I’m sure it's fine. I just have to remember to stay away from wool. Because it's itchy."

In the corner of her eye, she could see Sam nodding avidly.

It was flimsy logic, but thankfully, the kitchen was on her side.

"Your hash browns are burning," Sam noted, which made Jane hiss and jump away, an attempt to save her potatoes.

Sighing in relief, Brooke glanced at Sam, and discovered a somber, conflicted stare. Sam looked away.

\--

Hands dipping in scalding water, Brooke almost felt numb, skin flaring in slight protest as she rinsed the dishes, wiping off the soapy residue.

"So…" Jane said, when it was just the two of them, as Sam had decided to take Mac for a changing. "You really want to do this today?"

Mouth pursing in unintended angst, Brooke sighed, and watched her hands dip into the soapy water.

"Not that I won't support you," Jane continued, "Or not be by your side when you tell him, but it's happening awfully fast. Are you sure you've had enough time to process it?"

"Not really," she admitted, and her eyes fluttered and she remembered going too far, too fast, feeling Sam inside her. Unsteadily, she opened her eyes and turned to her stepmother. "How did he react about Sam?"

Pausing midwipe, Jane's mouth tightened. "Honey, I don't know if it's the same." Brooke's eyes went back to the water. "You're his little girl, and he could never be disappointed in you, but –"

"But he will be," she breathed.

"He'll be surprised," Jane enunciated. "Sam… she does things. You… you always seemed very clear with what you wanted."

"Yeah," she said, suddenly bitter. "Like when I was stuffing things down my throat and then throwing them back up. God, I'm sorry," she managed, slapping her hands into the water. "I'm sorry, that's not what I … I just don't want to… I don't want to lie anymore, Jane. I've done so much hiding and so much being afraid, and for what?" Staring into the murky water, she felt her eyes begin to sting. "I almost died, Jane. I almost died and I woke up and I was still dead inside."

Soft warmth enveloped her, and then there was a press of motherly lips against her forehead and the feel of cotton against her cheek. Brooke didn't know how starved she was for the affection until she felt it.

"We'll tell him tonight," Jane promised, in the quiet aftermath of her outburst. "You and me, and Sam, if you want her there."

God… she was so close, so close to being free, and yet, she wasn't.

"Thanks," she answered mutely, heavily.

\-- 

_From: Alover@yahoo.com_

_To: Bmcqueen@usc.edu_

_Subject: Hey._

_Hi, Brooke. I know this is weird, me emailing you, but I wanted to see how you were doing. I know the last time we saw each other things were a little insane, and God help me, you gave me a conscious._

_Hope you don't mind the stalker routine. My cousin goes to SC and I had him look up your address in the campus directory._

_Anyway, hope you're doing okay. I'm not sure how much Sam has told you but the Spring Break was pretty much shot after you left. Not that it's your fault._

_It's just… all so weird, you know? I mean lesbian drama has never been my thing to begin with, but it got borderline crazy. But it doesn't mean I wouldn't change what happened._

_Okay, maybe I wouldn't drink so much. At least then I could remember more about what happened._

_Anyway, give me a bump back if you feel like it. I don't know how you feel about being friends, but I'd like to hear from you again._

_Abby_

_Oh, right and tell Sam to go to hell, huh?_

\--

The email had been waiting in her inbox when she logged in that afternoon.

Brooke reread it twice, before she sighed, pulling her leg up to cradle it against her chest, and rest her chin on her knee.

Beside the laptop, Lil' Bleu Too rested on the glass beads of his bowl, delicate fins rippling slightly when he shifted his position. He wasn't Lil' Bleu, he had his own, slightly laid back personality, and while Brooke knew she should have been above it, he was, at this time, just a fish.

Still, she smiled slightly, and rubbed the glass with her index finger, petting him in her own way.

"Hey, silly too too," she said, in a soft high pitched voice. "I know you don't know much about me… I'm 19, but I feel older. I had an eating disorder and it never really goes away, but I'm stronger about it now. My mother left me and my dad and it really messed me up, and I was the most popular girl in school until my dad went and started dating the mother of my high school nemesis. So Sam and I became step sisters and even though I hated her I wanted her to like me for some unfathomable reason. We fought over everything and even though after a while we realized we kinda liked each other, we still didn't know how not to fight, and then I realized I was actually IN love with her and kinda gay and then I got hit by a car."

The fin rippled.

"I know. It's a total soap opera."

"Who are you talking to?"

Arching her neck and looking over her shoulder, she discovered Sam standing in the doorway, palms smoothing down her jeans. It looked like a nervous tick.

"The fish," Brooke replied, and then turned back to the computer, clicking out of the email. "What's up?"

Sam wavered, and Brooke felt curiously numb inside.

"I … um… okay…" Sam's face was flushed, ears tinted pink, and she began to poke her tongue outside her mouth, the very Sammy thing to do when she was unsure. "I just wanted to tell you that… if you're coming out to your dad today… I can be there."

Brooke stared at her. "Thanks."

Sam nodded, and began to step back, ready to leave her room. "You're welcome."

"Sam." Brooke glanced at the floor, and discovered her heart in an odd place, some sort of resignation that felt much like the place she was before… after the accident.

"Yeah?" Her crystal eyes must have looked exhausted, because Sam looked immediately concerned. "What's wrong?"

Brooke found herself suddenly overwhelmed, and she forced a smile. "I was thinking about taking a photography elective when I got back to school."

Sam looked completely confused, but had the good grace to go with it. "That's good, Brooke."

"Really?"

"Yeah, you're good at it. I mean, you made me look beautiful."

She managed a soft smile. "That's because you are beautiful, Sam."

Her expression was sincere, as her eyes locked onto Sam's and her beautiful lover wavered, mouth trembling before she smiled tightly.

"You're the beautiful one, Brooke. You always have been."

Sam was sitting on her bed, in the tension that filled the moment, Brooke remembered what they had done, how it had felt to take complete possession of Sam, and that was why it had changed everything.

"I don't know why it's so hard," she finally admitted. "I don't know why it's so easy to fight or to…" she glanced at the bed, and sighed raggedly, "And I can't say what I want to say to you. I don't know how."

Across from her, Sam just slumped back onto the bed.

"At least you're trying," she heard.

Brooke smiled darkly. "Are you getting back together with Rebecca?"

There was a long pause. "I don't know."

It was a fair answer, it was an honest answer, and yet even Brooke couldn't have understood why it disappointed her so much.

"She's comfortable, Brooke. She doesn't have… all … this."

"You can talk to her," Brooke said numbly.

A long, breathless sigh exhaled from her lover.

"I guess that's the trouble, right?" Brooke said, staring at her fingers. "I mean, with all this emotion comes all these extremes… that's all we're going to have."

"Brooke…" the words were choked. "It doesn’t mean…"

"No… it doesn't," Brooke agreed. "But it doesn't change the truth. There's so many feelings and words and ideas and situations piled on between us and everything's so new and raw and there's just so much change that we could keep doing this and just end up resenting each other for it because neither of us wants to give in."

"So where does that put us?"

"That's the point, I guess," Brooke answered, tired, sad. "There is no us." That said, she pushed off the chair and glanced at the stunned woman on her bed. Sam's expression was hard to gauge, but her eyes were moist, and Brooke never felt more in love than she did then. "I think you should get back together with Rebecca," she managed thickly, and then left the room.

\-- 

Sam wasn't there when Brooke told her father, but then again, Brooke didn't really expect her to be. She wasn't sure what she expected, when she sat down at the kitchen table after dinner, with Jane on one side and Mike on the other.

Her father wore a tight half smile, and Brooke guessed he must have been afraid that maybe there had been some sort of complication with the coma, as the doctors had warned a year ago, or the eating disorder had reared its ugly head, or something equally frightening.

Brooke was fairly sure that when she finally admitted it was her sexuality on the table, Mike nearly had a heart attack in relief.

He doubled over, let out a long breath, and then without warning lunged across the table and gathered her so tightly in his arms she nearly choked.

"Oh, my baby girl," he breathed, as Brooke blinked, and gasped a little, and Jane looked at them both like she had just sat through a marathon of Steel Magnolias, Beaches, and Prince of Tides. "It's okay. It's okay. I love you!"

And that was quite possibly the most uneventful part of her coming out.

Brooke would adore her dad forever for it.

\-- 

_To: Alover@yahoo.com_

_From: Bmcqueen@usc.edu_

_Subject: Hey_

_Hi! To be honest I'm actually really glad to hear from you. I know it was a really awkward set of circumstances that brought us together, but I'm not going to regret that I met you. Maybe I would have done things a little differently but you forced a lot of change in me._

_Well, maybe it wasn't just you, but because of you and what happened, I finally came clean about myself to Jane. I mean, granted, I was a sobbing hung over wreck when I did it, and I nearly caused a four lane accident, but I did it. And she was amazing about it. And then I ran into my old 'boyfriend' from high school and now he knows too. And I called my sorority sister and now she knows._

_And then Sam came home and I came out to her, and well… that was more complicated. But despite all the weirdness with Sam, my dad now knows. You know a lot of things have happened to you if you're dad is actually relieved that the only 'problem' with you is that you're gay._

_Anyway, that's kind of where I'm at right now. In the midst of a lot of change. I'm still in love with Sam, but I don't know what to do with that, now._

_Wow, I'm sure this was more than what you wanted to hear, right? Sorry, I've come out to so many people in the last few days (even my new fish knows) that shutting up just doesn't seem to work around anyone but Sam._

_It's weird. I know nothing is ever going to be the same again, and I don’t know how I feel about that. I want to be truly free, but even with all this weight taken off… there's still a tangle of complication._

_I guess that's what happens when you're in love with your asshole stepsister._

_Sorry for the long rambling thoughts, but it honestly really was great to hear from you. Do you have AIM? Maybe we can chat sometime._

_Brooke_

_Oh, and tell Rebecca to kiss my ass._

\--

"You know what? You're such an asshole, Brooke."

Glancing up from the book currently opened and laid out on her bed, Brooke barely had a chance to register that before Sam MacPherson charged into her room from the bathroom, jerking the door closed and then heading to her bedroom door, and flipping the dead bolt.

"What are you doing?"

"You're an asshole!" Sam repeated, looking like some furious warrior princess, brown eyes wide and blazing. "You give me some bullshit speech about how we can't ever communicate and then the second we start trying you shut it down."

Biting down on her lower lip, Brooke sat up, crystal eyes following the form of her lover as she began to pace her room, back and forth.

"I mean, FUCK, Brooke! You get into a coma and I do nothing but blame myself for months and then you wake up and pretty much turn into a completely bitch and ignore me for a year. Then you find out I'm gay and you spin some bullshit yarn about how sorry you are that you ignored me and tell me you want to make it up to me, and then when I, like an idiot, believe you and invite you to Spring Break with me, you go and hook up with FUCKING ABBY of all people and then tell me you're in the middle of a sexual identity crisis! And THEN instead of sticking around to actually face the shit vacation you just ruined you up and leave in the middle of the day, and make me look like a complete asshole to my friends and I had to have Abby, ABBY of all people, announce in front of everyone that you told her you're in love with me!" Brooke blinked, barely processing that bit of new information before Sam plowed on, shoving a furious finger in her direction. "And then, because I'm an IDIOT I tell Rebecca I'm worried about you and have to make sure you're okay and actually follow your ass over here, which cost me nearly a grand, by the way, money I HAVE TO CHARGE, I get here and Mom thinks I'M the asshole. And then you tell me you're suddenly gay and then your fish dies and when I try to comfort you, you make out with me! Knowing how I felt about you! And then you tell me you're in love with me and then just leave me with that! FUCK, Brooke!"

Furious tears had begun to slip down Sam's cheeks, and Brooke found herself aching suddenly at the sight of them.

"What was I supposed to do? What was I supposed to do, Brooke?! In a span of three days you take everything I thought I knew about you and you fling it out the window - how am I supposed to keep up?! You knew how I felt about you. You KNEW! You could have had me anytime you wanted and instead you wait until I'm fucked up and confused and angry and would do anything to just move ON from you." Pausing, Sam blinked, and turned back to her. "I'm sorry, Brooke, if I don’t know what to do. Up until last night I didn't EVER think I would ever sleep with you, and now I have and honestly? Yes, I love you. But I don't trust you. And it's still entirely fucked up! Our parents are married and you came out like, a minute ago and you're going to SC and I'm at Northwestern and we don't even LIKE each other half the time and it's a fucking mess. But it's not all my fault. Because you're an asshole."

In the aftermath of Sam's long, rambling confession, Brooke felt winded.

"Well," she said finally. "At least you're finally being honest."

Sam stared at her disbelievingly, and then suddenly, she began harsh, broken chuckle, and Brooke had no choice but to get off the bed and come forward, as tenderly as she could.

"Hey," she began, and Sam shook her head furiously, stepping away from her, as if she was afraid. "I don't want to hurt you, Sam," Brooke whispered. "I’m sorry that I'm broken. I'm sorry if I don’t know how to love you, but it didn't change the fact that I do."

"That doesn't mean much, Brooke," Sam sniffled, and Brooke smiled sadly at the truth of that.

"Sam, it doesn't change anything," she whispered softly. "If we had kept on not talking about it then last night would have just kept happening and that would be all we would know how to do. Fighting and... fucking." She winced, the word rancid on her tongue. "And God, Sam... what else could we have? I don't want to be a torrid secret we have to hide. I've done enough hiding."

"Brooke..." Sam stared at her, tear-streaked and still willful, and then suddenly her little lover moved into her arms and pressed her lips against hers, in a passionate, desperate embrace.

Just the touch of Sam, the feel of her, brought with it that electric jolt, and Brooke's instinct followed before her brain could catch up. Soft lips plundered her own, and a firm tongue swept inside her mouth to claim her own, in a dance of desperate passion.

It was too easy to fantasize that it was more than it was, when she let Sam push them both to the bed, until her knees hit the back of the bed, and she fell back, Sam falling with her, until she was on top.

Trembling fingers fumbled with her shirt, and Brooke sighed raggedly, lifting her torso from the bed to allow slender palms to slide up her ribs. The shirt went over her head, snagging on her chin and nearly choking her in the process, and Sam offered a short apology before she captured her lips again hotly and slid arms around Brooke, holding her tightly.

Painting a trail of kisses down her body, from her jaw to tip of her left breast, Sam sucked in a lungful of air.

It was a ragged breath, unsure, unsteady, and Brooke's head fell back when she felt Sam's mouth descend on her nipple.

Sam was right, she was an asshole. If she was anything else, she could have stopped it.

\-- 

Curled into her, Sam was beautiful, tired. Her eyes were closed, and her breathing was even, but her thumb rubbed alongside Brooke's, and when Brooke shifted, body still humming from the intense lovemaking, she shimmied closer, almost unconsciously.

Brooke watched her, utterly enraptured.

"I want to tell Jane and my Dad."

Sam's eyes fluttered open, and then closed again. "No, Brooke. It's not going to make it any easier."

"But it would make it real."

"It's not real enough?" came the whispered, raspy reply.

"No," Brooke responded, and leaned forward, thumbing a bang away from her lover's face. "Because I’m going back to my sorority and my school and you're going back to Northwestern and to Rebecca."

"You told me to go back to her."

Brooke's eyes shut tightly at the flat response. "I know. It's not that I want you to." Sam's eyes opened. "Sam, you saved my life."

"What are you talking about?"

Brooke kept her mouth purposely shut, and she buried her head further into the downy pillow and cursed her own weakness.

Tomorrow was going to change everything. She was going back to school and she was doing it as a lesbian. Stephanie was never one to keep things quiet, she was sure Maria knew, she was sure the whole sorority knew by now.

There was no going back, and everything was different and for the first time since the coma, Brooke felt reborn.

Sam was beside her: the unknown catalyst to Brooke's own private metamorphosis.

What had Brooke given her in return but her own confusion?

"Sam," Brooke whispered. "We'll figure this out."

"From across the country?"

"We seemed to do better over email and AIM, anyway."

"Healthy," Sam remarked dryly, eyes still closed, and Brooke blanched. It all left a sour taste in her mouth, and that was the last thing she ever wanted to associate with Sam.


	11. Where Did I go Wrong

Brooke wrote in her diary as her temporary lover slept through the night.

Despite her exhaustion, Brooke found she could not sleep, and instead moved to her desk, using what little moonlight there was to scrawl delicately and quietly on the small notebook she still kept. In between thoughts, she lingered on the figure that was turned away from her, and resented Sam her ability to sleep.

Maybe it was the dying romantic in her, but Brooke realized that part of the reason she could not was the fact that she didn’t want to sleep with Sam if she couldn't wake up with her.

Finishing her entry, Brooke flipped idly through the pages, from the beginning to the sophomore year to the six month gap that happened at the end of junior year. She took back up the journal writing at the beginning of senior year, and there, she noticed, came a marked change. The entries were shorter, to the point. No longer was there any discussion of her feelings. Where before she rambled on for pages of her troubled emotions for Harrison and Josh, what existed after the coma was almost an outline, a point by point report of her day and her subsequent reactions to that.

Frowning, Brooke brushed her bangs from her face and peered closer at the entries, flipping through the pages until she could determine just how many blank pages were left in this particular notebook.

She was nearing the end, and the awkward scribblings were shorter, more pointed, as if even unconsciously, she realized it.

Closing the book, Brooke found herself suddenly trembling, as she exhaled loudly and lowered her head, suddenly on the verge of tears.

"What are you doing?"

The soft, sleepy voice cut through her quiet devastation, and her head rose, fell upon a beautiful girl in a large bed, slender fingers keeping strands of tousled hair out of her face, as curious, inquisitive eyes stared at her.

Arms around her knees, Brooke gnawed at her raw lip, eyes on Sam.

"Why am I so afraid to feel?"

Sam's brown eyes burned into her own. In the silence, Sam only had the moonlight, the shadows playing across Brooke's face, and the shallow breathing to try and determine what it was Brooke was really asking.

Pushing up, Sam gave an audible sigh, holding the sheet against her torso.

"I don't know," Sam admitted, quiet. "Maybe because you've been hurt so much. Maybe because you spent your whole life trying to be someone else you're afraid no one will love you for who you really are. Or maybe you're just scared."

"So that makes me a coward?" Brooke sniffled, wiping at the moisture in her eyes.

"No, it makes you human," Sam corrected softly. "And that's okay, Brooke."

The pressure building in her chest was almost unbearable, and she shut her eyes, tried to relieve it with another soft whimper.

"Come on," she heard, and felt the bed sheets rustle. "It's okay."

It wasn't, but Brooke wanted to desperately to believe the lie that she numbly came forward, until she slid into the outstretched arms, and felt the fabric of her blankets close around her, her step-sister cocooning her into a warm, soft embrace.

"I thought you were sleeping," she muttered, as Sam snuggled closer into her, thigh sliding between Brooke's, breath tickling the side of her ear.

Sam was quiet, until she shifted and she heard, "I wanted to watch you. I didn't want to forget."

\-- 

Brooke McQueen knew better than to think she was imagining the stares when she grabbed hold of her bags and lugged them up the driveway and into the sprawling Victorian house that housed her sorority.

Sets of blue eyes and brown lingered on her, and her housemates all collectively stopped whatever it was they were in the middle of doing and stared, as she moved through the hallway.

"Hi," she said, in an impatient tone, when Hazel, their ever chaste Christian sister, stood at the foot of the stairs, looking at her as if she had grown a second head. "Hazel, would you mind?"

"I do mind," Hazel began, arms crossing. "I've heard some really bad things about you, Brooke, and I just want you to know, that we won't stand for it."

"Oh, Good God." Tromping down the hallway, Becky, a skater girl with a cute short cut, leaned against the hallway door. "Like anyone cares."

"I care!" Hazel squeaked. "What if she starts hitting on me?!"

"You can't even get the SC waterboy to hit on you," Becky responded dryly.

A small smirk floated on Brooke's face. Turning toward her judging sister, she arched a playful eyebrow. "Trust me, Hazel. You're not my type."

The snicker behind Hazel was almost comforting, when Maria shoved past the other girl and grabbed hold of Brooke's bags. "Okay, enough, leave her alone. Brookie, we have a lot to talk about."

Relieved to be out of the suddenly gay limelight, Brooke gave her friend a small grin and tossed Hazel a cool look. "Excuse me."

Huffing slightly, Maria dragged her luggage, thumping the designer bags against the stairs and glancing back at her quizzically.

"So… you've had quite a week."

"I'm sure you did too," Brooke responded. "How was Cabo?"

"Oh, crazy!," Maria said, bumping her hip against their door and nearly falling inside. "We went snorkeling, right? On this fake pirate ship? And the Mexican boys there were totally trying to hit on us, and since I was the only one who spoke Spanish-"

"Uhuh-"

"Well, let's just say I had an extra bead on what they really thought of us," Maria finished, dropping Brooke's bag on the floor and flouncing back to her bed. "I did meet this skuba instructor guy, though. He was cute. I almost got some until I got a panicked phone call from Jenny freaking out about Lil' Bleu."

The name of her little fish brought a sudden rush of pain, and Brooke's mouth twitched. With a ragged sigh, she glanced at the empty space beside her dresser.

"I'm really sorry, Brooke," Maria said gravely, and blinked, her face flushing suddenly. "I actually cried when I found out. "

Brooke glanced away, and began to zip open her bag, suddenly wanting desperately to look busy. "Yeah, me too."

"Where's the other guy?"

"Oh, you mean Lil' Blue Too?" Brooke responded, and Maria rolled her eyes upward, commiserating with her at the complete idiocy of that plan. "He's home, I let my step-mom keep him for Mac. It's a lot of work to bring him back and forth."

"Sure," Maria noted, and then suddenly squeaked, "You're gay now?!" Blinking, Brooke glanced back. "Oh, like you're surprised?!" Maria retorted, bouncing on her bed in enthusiasm. "You know Stephanie can't keep a secret to save her life."

Groaning, Brooke sank down on her bed, head in her hands.

"Oh, please! Please! You have to spill what happened. What girl rocked your world so hard she ruined all men forever! It was me, right?"

Brooke's head came up immediately. "What?"

"I KNEW you were checking me out!" Maria looked particularly gleeful, and struck a seductive pose. "It's all the walking around naked that did it, right? Did I turn you gay?"

"No," Brooke said, incredulous. "You didn't turn me gay."

"But I’m a tease, right? I'm a total tease?"

"Do you WANT to be a tease?"

"Oh, come on, Brookie!" Maria stood up, and with outstretched arms, proceeded to give a twirl.

"You're insane."

"But I'm a hot insane tease, right?"

"Oh my GOD!" Brooke snorted, trying to control her laughter. "Yes, okay? It was you! You ruined men forever for me with your hot smokin' bod!"

"Oh, God, is Maria hitting on you already?" Stephanie's brow arched, entering the room and shutting the door behind her.

"Why wouldn't she?" Brooke said without thinking. "I'm hot."

"She's a hot tease," Maria offered, and then burst into laughter.

It was a release, from the pent up emotion that had buried in her the second she had woken up alone in her room that morning, and when the tears came, she welcomed them, nearly hysterical as Maria fell back on her bed hyperventilating, and Stephanie stared at them both as if they had chosen to wear Payless Shoes.

"You are both so weird!"

"Oh, you're just jealous that you didn't turn Brooke gay."

\-- 

"Are you okay?" Stephanie asked her.

Leaning against the hard bark of on the trees in the sprawling quad beside the Communications building, Brooke glanced up, distracted by the sounds of her IPOD and the book in her lap.

"What do you mean?"

"You haven't seemed yourself." Her friend was a shallow, but sincere, and when Stephanie bit her lip in an uncharacteristic frown, Brooke knew she was actually serious. "Is it Hazel and the other girls?"

With a ragged sigh, Brooke's hands fell to her sides, head falling back to rest against the broad trunk. "No," she admitted. "I knew they would react that way. Honestly, as a whole, it's better than I expected."

"Well, thanks for giving us so much credit," Stephanie mumbled, rolling her eyes before she turned on the grass, trying to get as much of the sun as possible.

"You know what I mean."

"I honestly think the Greek system doesn't get enough kudos for what it is."

"Well, for what it's worth, you've been great."

"But not great enough?" Stephanie's tone was curious, almost offended. "What's up, Brooke? You have this look in your eyes, when you think no one's looking."

Biting her lip, Brooke swallowed, glanced away. "It's nothing."

"It's Abby, right?"

Surprised at the mention of her new friend, Brooke sat up straighter. "Abby? No, I just... Nothing's really wrong, I just... I miss someone."

"So, not Abby..." Stephanie frowned. "You know, I don't like prying, Brooke. We're your sorority sisters, and I like to think it's more than just having keggers and philanthropies. You can tell me what's bothering you. Anything to get that kicked puppy look off your face."

Brooke didn't have much a defense to that description. The two weeks since she had left Sam behind had gone by quickly, but she had been haunted by the shakiness of what they had shared.

The distance between them was killing Brooke, and too afraid to the break the shreds of trust that existed between them, she was left helpless; unsure how to even attempt to fix ... whatever it was they had.

"It's complicated," was all she allowed, when Stephanie glanced at her expectantly. "What?" she said again, unreasonably annoyed at Stephanie's exasperated look. "I'm allowed to keep things to myself, Stephanie, okay?"

"Oh, God, you're such a martyr, you know that?" Sitting up, Stephanie gathered her books, rising up. "Didn't you say you came out because you wanted to stop putting on a mask?" Pushing long blonde bangs out of her face, Stephanie gave her a pointed look. "I gotta get to class."

As her friend tromped off, a little heavy-footed in her emotion, Brooke stayed put, lost in the sun and the grass and the people moving around her.

Across the quad, there was a girl with dark black hair, sitting on a bench, looking right at her.

Feeling uneasily naked, Brooke gathered her books and got to her feet.

\-- 

Old habits were hard to break, Brooke understand that.

She told herself she came out because she wanted to stop being afraid, but it was fear that paralyzed her now. It kept her from emailing Sam, it kept her from signing onto her AIM, it kept her from living...

Sam was at Northwestern, and that was all Brooke knew. There had been no more talk of Rebecca, or Abby or what would happen when they had separated, and because there was no understanding, Brooke felt oddly like a gutted fish, flopping and gasping for air.

That feeling came with a tightness in her chest, a pressure, and Brooke knew Stephanie was right, when she said it was affecting her physically.

Lovesick, said her professor one day during class, in a large hall with three hundred other classmates. Brooke wrote it down, and found herself staring at her own handwriting, as if she could make sense of her emotion simply by understanding the word.

She was lovesick, and she was afraid.

Brooke wasn't sure what the rules were, but she was pretty sure she was breaking them when she decided to call Sam, late that night, alone in her room while Maria was at yet another mixer. Because she was a coward, she waited until it was late, until she was sure Sam would be asleep.

Even though Sam's cell phone was saved in her address book, Brooke dialed the numbers, one by one, until the 9 digits were recognized and Sam's name appeared in the 'dialing' window. She heard the chirp of the phone ringing, and with each sound the tightness in her chest just increased, making her light headed.

She closed her eyes as she waited, and then the phone clicked.

"Hi, it's Sam." Her heart jumped in her throat, making her suddenly speechless. "I'm not available, so leave a detailed message, and I'll get back to you."

The voicemail. She barely had time to register both her disappointment and relief before the telltale beep came on, fading into silence.

"Hi," she managed finally. "It's me. Brooke." Shuddering, Brooke closed her eyes, horrified at her own ineptness. "I just... I don't know why I'm calling, but... I miss you. I do, Sammy. I miss looking at you, and talking to you, and God... I don't know..." Fingers rising to the bridge of her nose, she tried to control herself, understand what it was she wanted to say. "I can't help feeling that whatever happened, whatever is left behind... somewhere in the middle of all this I lost my best friend. And I just feel so stupid because I'm the one that threw you away first. I did, because I was scared and I was hurting, and it's not an excuse but it's what happened." Her eyes opened, and looked at the ceiling. "Tell me how to fight for you, Sammy. And I'll do it. I'll do whatever you want me to."

A half second pause, and then came the beep, cutting her off for good.

Smiling bitter, Brooke turned on the bed, and curled into herself, momentarily overtaken.

\-- 

It was almost silly, to be optimistic as she was. What had followed the heartbroken message of needy desperation was a decision, and Brooke had decided that she needed to stop being afraid.

Something had needed to be done, and Brooke had done it. Maybe it would have been better if there had been an actual conversation, but Brooke had been honest, and open, and it felt... it felt almost satisfying.

"You coming to class, Brookie?" Slinging her bag over her head, Maria looked at her expectantly, unusually bright-eyed considering the way she had teetered into the room the night before.

"What are you on?" Brooke asked, pulling on her shirt. "Really?"

"Duh. Rockstar," Maria said, grabbing hold of the big can and shaking it at her. "One of these puppies and who needs sleep?"

"I do."

"LAME!" Rolling her eyes, Maria gave her a thumbs up. "I'm gonna make a bagel. You want?"

"Thanks, but I'm not really hungry." Settling into her chair, Brooke shot her a distracted smile. "I'm gonna check my email. I'll be down in a minute."

"Lame and nerdy," Maria amended, heading for the door. "You're lucky you're hot."

Waving distractedly, Brooke typed in the email account and opened the webpage.

There were two emails the following morning: one from Abby, and one from Harrison.

None from Sam.

Brooke told herself she should have expected it. Sam was probably busy and the message Brooke had left her...

Maybe she hadn't had time to hear it. That had to be it, because while Brooke and Sam could both be self admitted assholes, Sam had told her she loved her... and that counted for something, didn't it?

Sucking in a lungful of air, Brooke tried hard to push down on her burgeoning hope, and clicked quickly on the emails, intent to read them and get them out of the way before class began.

_From: HunkyNerd@gmail.com_

_To: Bmcqueen@usc.edu_

_Subject: Hey Stranger._

_Didn't think I'd actually be emailing you, huh? Give me a buzz, Brooke. Let's hang out. I figured out over the lunch we had the other day, there's no point in being an asshole to the prettiest girl in high school, gay as she may be._

_How're things with Sammy? Haven't heard from her in a while._

_Harrison._

The last sentence caused a bittersweet pang, but Harrison was still the sweet, sarcastic little unknowing hearthrob he had always been.

She would respond when she had time, she decided. Invite him up for the weekend. San Diego State wasn't far away, and truthfully, she had missed his friendship.

_From: Alover@yahoo.com_

_To: Bmcqueen@usc.edu_

_Subject: Go Trojans!!_

_Okay, not really, but I really hate subject lines, and I didn't really know what else to put._

_Anyway, I'm really glad for you, Brooke. To be honest, I'm actually kinda jealous. I didn't think parents like yours actually existed. If Jeapordy had an answer like, "Things That Are Wrong With Abby", my dad would get each and every one AND the bonus round._

_I guess things didn't go too well with Sam, right? I mean, I'm not going to pry or anything, but with Sam and Rebecca getting back together, I kinda figured not._

_Anyway, I guess I just wanted to say that I'm sorry. Give me a call if you can, I'd like to see how you're doing._

_Abby_

The words were there, printed in black and white.

Brooke didn't want to believe them.

They hit something inside of her, harder than she had ever been hit before, and for the moment, she was literally left breathless.

"Brooke? Are you coming or what? Brooke?"

Wordlessly, Brooke stared up at her roommate, paralyzed.

"Brooke?" Maria repeated. "You okay? Come on, we gotta go."

Because she had no idea what else to do, Brooke got up, and closed the laptop, grabbing her books.

\--

She got a phone call, in the middle of the day, in the middle of the same quad.

The caller ID said 'Sam'.

She stared at the phone, somehow unsure if it was real, and then she closed her eyes and braced herself.

"Hey, Sam," she began, and her voice sounded thick and full of emotion. She winced at the sound of it.

"Brooke," said her lover, and she shuddered, because she didn't sound happy or hopeful. "I got your message."

"Okay," she responded, and she swallowed. "I umm... I meant it, Sam."

"God... Brooke..."

"What do you want me to do?"

"I don’t know." Sam's voice was soft, like she was trying to keep her voice down. "I don't know what we can do."

"We can try, Sam," Brooke said. "Don't you think it's worth trying?"

"Trying what? A barrage of phone calls and emails? Sneaking around behind Mom and Mike's back on vacations home? We made our choices, Brooke. You made yours when you shut me out, and I made mine when I decided to move on."

It was so... final. Brooke sucked in her breath, and blinked away from her tears. "No, Sam, listen, okay? I'm not saying it would easy, but what has been about us? Isn't it worth it to try? At least say that we cared enough to give it shot, and if we fail... okay... but..."

"Brooke, we already FAILED. Every time. We've had chance after chance to get it right and it just-"

"No, we haven't. You know that." Heart racing, Brooke didn't care about the people walking by her. She gripped her phone and buried her fingers in her hair. "I love you, Sam." There was a heavy sigh in return. "No, listen to me - we're young and stupid and yes, you make me feel things and you make me react and sometimes I don't know how to handle that. But I'm learning, and I can do it right this time. I know I can."

"Well, maybe I can't."

"You can't or you don't want to?"

Again, there it was, that heavy, exasperated sigh. "Look... Brooke. I don't know if we can even be friends, right now, let alone... what you want. I don't like who I become when I love you. I get mean and selfish and..."

God.

Her heart ached, and her blood raced, and she had the world beating down on her, and Brooke held onto her phone so tightly she heard the plastic creak a little.

"Maybe we can... we can still... email or something-"

"No," she interrupted, wiping at her tears. "No, we can't."

"Brooke."

"No, Sammy! I can't just pretend that this conversation didn't happen! If you want move on, then fine. But you have to let me do it too."

"So, what? It's all or nothing with you? Are you that selfish, Brooke?"

"What do you want from me, Sam? I mean, honestly, what do you want?"

The long silence was answer enough.

The world tilted, stopped, and in that second, Brooke felt it start to move again.

"Okay," she answered herself. "Okay. I’m going to respect that you don't want me. In return, I ask for the space to move on from you. I already lost you, Sam. You've confirmed that. You have to let me deal with that."

"Brooke..."

"What else can you say, Sam? Look, you may not like who you become when you're with me, but to be honest? You made me a better person. You made me look at myself and realize that there were parts of me that I hated so much I tried to starve them away. If I hadn't met you, I would pretended forever, and I would have never lived. Just know that. You saved my life, Sammy."

She clicked off the phone, numb inside, but somehow, precariously, intact.

"I'm okay," she told herself, lifting her tear streaked eyes to the sun. "I'm okay."

\-- 

"So this is the inside of a sorority, huh?" Harrison looked lanky and boy-like, and Brooke smiled at the familiarity of him, as he stood awkwardly in the middle of the room. "I always wondered what the inside of one of these looked like."

"They're highly overrated," Brooke responded. "I can't even get Maria to vacuum on a daily basis."

Harrison's expression was highly skeptical. "With that body, she doesn’t need to vacuum, unless she's doing it naked."

"Oh, believe me, that wouldn't be hard. She loves being naked."

Like a true boy, Harrison's interest was immediately piqued. "And you've never set us up, because?"

"Because you're much too good for her," Brooke answered flatly. "She cheats like crazy."

"I think you're overestimating me." Flopping down beside her, Harrison shoved at her firmly, causing her to shimmy over. "I'm perfectly willing to be cheated on."

"No, you deserve better," Brooke said firmly, moving on her side, to look down at the pretty boy with the sparkling brown eyes and too big ears. "And you and I both know it."

Staring up at her, Harrison didn't respond. Instead, he simply looked, the searching expression in his gaze disquieting her. "What?"

"You're still the most gorgeous girl I've ever seen."

The compliment was unexpected, and she flushed, glancing away from the intense stare. "Harrison," she managed, an awkward laughing coming from her.

"Sorry," he answered, and he at least had the decency to look embarrassed. "It's true, Brooke."

"Well, thanks, but..." Pushing out a frustrated breath, Brooke fell onto her back, until they were shoulder to shoulder on the teeny bed. "I don't really feel that way." He stayed quiet, and she bit her lip. "Have you ever felt ugly on the inside, Harrison? That's how I used to feel. Ugly on the inside, like there was nothing inside of me worth anything. So I starved myself to make myself look beautiful and for what? I was always alone. Always afraid. I was sick, Harrison, all because all I was this ugly person that everyone said was beautiful."

"You're not that person, Brooke." Harrison's tone was sweet, sincere, and she smiled bitterly at his soft tone. "Look, we all make mistakes. We're all capable of being ugly people. That's called being imperfect. And those imperfections make us beautiful."

"Look at you, Mr. Psych 101." It was light, but there was too much depth in Harrison's words to even try to take them seriously. She couldn't deal with sincere emotion. Not now.

"Communication, actually." Turning, Harrison eyed her, and she found they were in an almost exact mimic of the position they were in before she had taken his virginity. "I talked to Sam."

The name caused a rupture in her heart, and she sighed raggedly, trying to contain it. "Harrison, I don't want to-"

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry!" she snapped. "Just... don't. Don't feel sorry for me."

He tried to touch her. She shrugged him off.

"If it helps," he said, in the silence that followed. "I know what it's like to think you're going to end up with her. To think that it's meant to be."

"Stop," she managed, eyes closing. "Please, don't..."

"You move on, Brooke."

"I don't want to!" Her eyes opened, liquid pools of fevered emotions. "I don't want to move on when we haven't had a chance, Harrison! It can't be over just like that."

"But it is, Brooke. And you have to accept it."

"WHY? Why should I?"

"Because you can't force things."

It was the truth, and she didn't want to hear it. But Harrison was staring at her with those big brown eyes, and he looked so sad, and she didn't want to be him.

"God... DAMMIT." The outburst was full of anger, and then defeat, when Harrison reached out, and she couldn't help but curl into him, and let him hold her.


	12. As She Begins to Raise Her Voice

"You know," Brooke began as she opened the microwave door, wrinkling her nose as the buttery smell of the popcorn hit her full on. "Not that I mind, but when you said you were coming into town and wanted to do a 'Girl's Night Out', I thought we'd actually be... you know... going out."

Caught with a morsel of chocolate in her mouth, Carmen Ferrera actually looked a little apologetic, eyebrow arching as she tried to swallow, gulping down the last bit of the little treat.

"Oh, me too," she sighed, "But I think Mary Cherry hasn't quite given up hope on sinking her claws into Harrison quite yet." With a conspirator's look, she motioned to the living room of the penthouse she and Mary Cherry had rented, eyes rolling heavenward as their shaggy-haired friend shot them a panicked 'Help Me' look when Mary Cherry firmly planted herself in his lap. "She thinks a scary movie and 'a bit of cuddlin' will finally wear him down."

"Oh, Joe!" Aside from gaining a bit of weight, the shallow cheerleader didn't look a bit different. "You haven't changed a bit! Look at your hair! My word! It's like pettin' a little terrier!"

Brooke smiled at the sight. "I can't believe that you two are still roommates. And that you still haven't killed each other."

"I know, right?" Offering her a bowl, Carmen grinned merrily. "Luckily the kind of crazy she drives me, there's medication for. Besides," she added, reaching for the ice cream cartons. "Mama Cherry thinks I'm a good influence on her. I can't give up free room and board. I never would be able to afford Stanford otherwise. I keep Mary Cherry out of trouble, and she keeps the creditors off my back. Aside from having to beat off the succession of personal trainers Mama Cherry has coming to the house, it's a pretty good deal."

"You can't beat free tuition," Brooke agreed, dumping the steaming hot popcorn into the bowl, wincing slightly when the steam caught a bit of the flesh on her palm.

"Yeah..." Hesitating, Carmen sighed. "Besides, Mary Cherry's got a good heart. It's just hidden really really really REALLY deep... underneath all that... fur."

"Well, you would know," Brooke agreed. "You guys did spend a lot of time together senior year." The brief mention to their last year at school drove the small kitchenette into a somber silence. "Come on," Brooke said, laughing a little dryly. "One of us had to mention it."

Pressing her lips together, Carmen gave her a knowing glance. "You were going through a lot," she said finally. "I mean, Brooke, you spent months in a coma after Nicole tried to kill you. If that didn't change you a little bit, I'd have been more worried."

The rationalization, even in retrospect, didn't help. Her returning smile was a small one. "Well, I nearly ruined every real relationship I had."

Carmen crossed her arms, leaning her shapely body against the counter. "You mean, you and Sam."

Faltering, Brooke's mouth twitched. "Am I that obvious?"

"Harrison told me some," Carmen admitted. Glancing up, Brooke nearly dropped the popcorn she was carrying, flashing a look back at her friend, currently struggling with a lap full of Mary Cherry. Carmen shifted, apologetic. "Don't kill him, I wormed it out of him."

She sighed raggedly, suddenly nervous. "How much did he tell you... exactly?"

Biting down on her lower lip, the guilty expression gave much of it away.

"So... everything," Brooke muttered, suddenly hot, placing the bowl of popcorn on the counter, and sighing heavily.

"He was worried about you, Brooke."

"Is that why you two came down here?" The thought was suddenly infuriating. "Because I'm not a charity case."

"No one is saying that!"

"Oh, my God... did our little Brookie figure it out?" Popping her head over the couch, Mary Cherry offered Harrison a somber frown. "Brookie, it ain't what it looks like. I love the gays!"

"Oh, God. Harrison." Turning away, Brooke glared at her friend. "We're not friends anymore."

"Brooke, I was worried, all right? Maria says you're this close to inactive status, and you don't even care!"

"Who is Maria?!" Mary Cherry demanded, pointing a finger at Harrison's nose. "Some Latin whore?!"

"Brooke, come on!" Fingers catching her wrist, Carmen's grip pulled her back. "We're your friends, okay? And you've had quite a year. We just wanted to reconnect. You were one of the nicest people at school, and..."

"And you're gay now!" Mary Cherry supplied helpfully. "So we're watchin' Judy Garland!"

Head lowering, Brooke closed her eyes, overwhelmed.

"All we wanna do is... hang out. That's all. No support groups, no interventions. We just wanna be here for a friend. Because that's what friends do." Hands squeezing hers, Carmen's expression was warm and sincere. "And we know you'd do the same for us."

Biting down her frustration, Brooke tried to swallow her anger. "Look... I appreciate that, Carmen. But I'm fine, okay? You don't HAVE to do this."

"No but we want to," Harrison said, managing finally to shove off his lap buddy, nearly falling over the couch. "Come on, Brooke! What ever happened to having fun? You remember fun, right? You are a sorority girl."

"That's a stereotype," Brooke said pointedly. "Sorority girls are allowed to be boring."

"Awww, but Brookie! Lookit you! Lookit what you've become! You're... wearing generic cotton!" Mary Cherry got to her feet, shooting Harrison a murderous glance before she pushed her blonde hair out of her face and straightened up. "It's just not right. Now you let me and Carmen and Joe here put you right. And if it'll help, I'll even buy you a stripper! With ratty dark hair, just like Spam's!"

"I could go for that," Harrison said immediately.

The inappropriateness of her old friend struck an unintended smile, and shrewdly, Carmen saw her way in. "Come on. You know what? Screw this. This isn't about being at home. You know what this is?" Rushing over the bar, she dug out a bottle of champagne and began to fuss with the top. "This is a celebration. For our dear friend Brooke, who, I hear, has traded in her pompoms for a camera."

"Yes!" Harrison agreed immediately, hand on Brooke's shoulder, drawing her affectionately into his side. "I also told them about your new job at Daily Trojan and your application to the Annenberg School of Journalism. Miss photojournalist!"

Carmen fiddled with the champagne cork. "And after we have our toast, we're going to go out, and we're going to dance the night away." Amused despite herself, Brooke crossed her arms, waiting. Carmen shot them an embarrassed glance. "It's harder than it looks."

"Oh, gimme that!" Mary Cherry said, snatching the champagne out of Carmen's hand. "Honey, before you get that thing open, we'll have died of thirst." Tongue on the side of her mouth, she worked the top and suddenly Brooke shrieked, ducking as the cork popped and blasted straight for her. "Got it!" Mary Cherry said triumphantly, grinning maniacally. "Now where's the best gay bar in town! Brookie's going carpet munchin!"

\--

Since coming out, her actual lifestyle hadn't changed for the gayer. When one of the girls at the sorority house floated the idea of a GLBT mixer, Brooke had been uncomfortable with the idea. She wasn't a fan of being singled out just because of her orientation, and had been relieved when it was nixed by Hazel. Thankfully, it was the worst act Hazel had committed, as she preferred to completely ignore the fact that Brooke was gay.

In all honesty, it was just fine with Brooke. Heart raw and still overwhelmingly depressed following her pseudo-breakup with Sam, she wanted nothing more than to bury herself into her classes and consume herself with work.

She had picked up her camera again, attending functions as the sorority's historian, and found herself increasably addicted to her lens. There was an odd sense of security in seeing the world from behind a camera.

Her first time at the Girlbar, had come about when she had been forced to go by a well intentioned Maria and a worried Stephanie, who told Brooke that the 'frigid' rumors were coming back full force. The experience had been overwhelming and incredibly uncomfortable, as her sorority sisters proceeded to gawk at every women in the place and push her toward anybody that might had looked like she was interested. Then of course, Maria had hooked up with one of the several straight guys who had arrived. Brooke herself had spent half the night in the bathroom, looking after Stephanie, who had gotten just a little too drunk and a lot too sick.

There wasn't much about that night that was memorable, and Brooke hadn't been back since.

"You know what scared me?" Carmen asked her in the limo ride over, ignoring Harrison and Mary Cherry, who appeared to be squabbling over Mary Cherry's attempt to hand feed him grapes. "When I first saw you today, you had that exact look that you gave me in the hospital room when I first saw you after you woke up."

Startled, Brooke glanced at her. "What do you mean."

Shrugging, Carmen glanced outside the window, lost in thought. "You weren't all there, Brooke. It was like you had purposely shut down. And it reminded me of what Sam said one day to me, when you got sick and were in the hospital before."

The mention of her former lover struck a still raw place, and Brooke bit back the pain, expressionless.

"She said when she went to see you, that you had stopped caring. That you had shut down and there wasn't really any..." Brows furrowing, Carmen tried to express the words, hands  moving in an attempt to mime it out. "Life," she said finally. "That spark that made you Brooke McQueen, it wasn't there. Somehow, it had gone out. I didn't know what she meant," Carmen continued, as Brooke glanced away, "Until I saw you in that room after the coma. And then I got it."

"What was Sam like?" Carmen blinked, surprised at the abrupt turn of conversation. Flushing, Brooke brushed her bangs out of her face, sighing raggedly. "Harrison said

that when I was in that coma... Sam was... She blamed herself. Is that true?"

Mouth pressing together, Carmen kept quiet, dark eyes searching. "It hit all of us hard," Carmen said, "But when you were in that coma... it was like Sam was there with you. I don't think anybody realized how close you had gotten until that summer."

The emotion got the better of her, and she cursed herself, wiping at her eyes as she sucked in a painful breath. "And I just threw that away. Like an idiot."

"Brooke... you have to stop blaming yourself for what happened with you and Sam. There's two of you in this relationship. And Sam isn't perfect." Carmen's smile was crookedly sheepish. "Even I'll admit that, and we used to be really close."

Curiosity overwhelmed her own defenses. "You haven't heard from her?"

Shrugging, Carmen sighed. "No. You know how it is. You grow apart." To her credit, Carmen seemed aggrieved at the thought. "You deserve to live, Brooke. You deserve to be happy. You believe that, right?"

The streets of West Hollywood swept by them, lit up in color and life.

Carmen's hand covered hers, and squeezed. "We'll talk later."

\--

"So much for talking," Carmen shouted in her ear, and Brooke grinned in response, unreasonably excited. "It's so loud in here I just felt an ear drum burst!"

Her friend clutched onto her like she was a life jacket, and Brooke kept her close to her, weaving her way through the crowded eclectic group of people currently populating the gay bar.

She was intimidated, and overwhelmed, but somehow, being here was exhilarating in a way she hadn't felt since Spring Break and Sam.

"So..." Harrison's eyes were as round as saucers, taking it all in. "You come here a lot?!"

"Just once before," Brooke admitted, grinning when Mary Cherry gave them a gleeful thumbs up from the dance floor, dancing crazily with a short haired butch girl with glasses. "The girls wanted me to give a coming out... thing and we landed here."

"I really like it," Harrison said, openly staring at a couple making out in the corner.

"So this a Hollywood gay bar, huh?" Carmen sidled closer to her, glancing at the crowded bar and the almost unrealistically good looking women dressed in barely there outfits, serving drinks. "It's... Nice."

Nice wasn't quite the spin Brooke put on it. Wishing suddenly for her camera, Brooke took in the atmosphere, imagined the shots of life spurting up around her, in the

form of loud music, and every type of person imaginable.

Women packed the place so there was barely room to walk, and they came in all shapes and sizes, from Hollywood chic to flannel wearing, crew cut sporting, self professed bull dykes. Couples abounded, either there for the dancing or to glance curiously at the clusters of gorgeous women who seemed perfectly happy dancing suggestively in groups. The music was loud, pulsing with the strobe lights, and as Brooke let it seep through her, she was suddenly staring right into the eyes of a cute brunette.

"You're adorable," she heard, and blinked, thrown at the frank interpretation.

"Thank you!"

"You're straight," Came the next sentence as the other girl looked at her appraisingly, eyes dragging from her to Carmen. "Aren't you?"

Blinking, Brooke suddenly grinned. "What do you think?"

"Straight," came the confirmation, and Brooke laughed, shaking her head as the girl tossed her a wink and moved away.

"I think I just got hit on," she told Carmen, awkwardly excited by the idea. Her friend arched a curious eyebrow.

"You just let her think you're straight," Carmen reminded her. "Go after her - tell her the truth!"

"I'm not quite ready for that yet," Brooke admitted, and then grinned as she waved a finger toward Harrison, now in a conversation with a very pretty boy with a tight t-shirt. "Harrison's making friends."

A fur-covered sweaty version of a make-up smeared Mary Cherry nearly collapsed into her. "Oh, Brookie! Carmen! Ya gotta come dance! The place is a-twitter with so much girl power I've got me an uncontrollable urge to start burnin' my bra!"

"Uh... Okay..." Carmen shot her a wild-eyed glance, before both of their wrists were suddenly grabbed in a forceful grip and they were yanked forward.

A sudden clanging in the air diffused the situation, when a male announcer shouted over the PA. "It's that time again!"

Brooke glanced back, as the crowd surged toward the bar next to the dance floor. "Oh, God, I remember this!"

"What?" Carmen said, squealing when she was nearly overrun by a girl rushing past them, "What's happening?!"

"You guys! Some guy just asked me for my number." Harrison appeared behind them, ears tinted pink. "I gotta get out of here!"

Grabbing his hand, Brooke grinned. "Trust me. For this? You need to stay. Come on."

Maneuvering through the crowd, Brooke got as close as she could as her friends crowded around her. As the song pulsed, the hoots and howls became near screams when every female bartender made her way to the top of the bar.

Grinding against each other and the table tops, the bartenders danced suggestively, and the largely female crowd shouted their appreciation, waving dollars, in hopes it would draw a dancer near.

Sneaking a glance toward Harrison, Brooke nearly laughed. "Well?"

His eyes had glazed over. "I love you."

\--

"What'll it be, sweetie?" The bartender, a brunette with smoky eyes and a gorgeous figure gave her a polite, but hurried smile.

Oddly star-struck, Brooke found herself at a loss, blushing on reflex. What was the proper etiquette when dealing with a dancer/bartender/really-hot-girl-with-dollar-bills-in-her-short-shorts?

"Um... two cherry cokes, please," she stammered, startled into politeness.

Winking, the bartender turned to do her duty, and elbows against the wood, Brooke brushed her hair back self consciously. The girl was a professional, already almost finished with the easy order when a group of women packed themselves in besides Brooke. One girl, tall, with an incredible figure, boldly reached over the bar to poke the bartender in the shoulder.

With a glance, the bartender immediately leaned over, ready to hear the order when the other woman, grinning wickedly, planted a kiss on the corner of her mouth. Brooke's mouth immediately dropped, somehow horrified at the inappropriate gesture. The bartender seemed to take it in stride, arching a disproving eyebrow at the other woman and shaking her head.

Still, Brooke's expression of outrage must have registered, because the dark eyes locked onto her own, and with a grin, she mouthed the words, "Happens all the time."

Blushing furiously, Brooke glanced away. "Oh."

The cherry cokes were pushed toward her. "Here you go, Gorgeous," said the brunette with a wink, and then moved away, already preparing other drinks.

"Wait!" Blinking, Brooke glanced down at the fistful of cash she had ready. "How much do I owe you?"

The other woman glanced back, for the moment staring. "Don't worry about it," she said, winking again, and then she was gone, moving on to the other drinks.

Unexpectedly thrilled, Brooke flushed, and without another word, left a five dollar bill on the counter.

"I think I just got a free drink," she announced to Carmen, when she had finally reached the other girl, handing her her drink.

"Well, why wouldn't you?" Carmen said prettily. "You're gorgeous!" She glanced down into the drink, suddenly confused. "There's like... ten cherries in here."

Giddy, Brooke arched a proud eyebrow. "You bet your ass there is."

\--

The line to the bathroom was atrocious, and Brooke found herself inwardly wincing, crossing her arms as she took her place against the wall, behind a rocker looking chick dressed in dark jeans and a fitted blank tank top.

For lack of anything else to do, Brooke studied the curious, sinful tattoo snaking it's way up the taller girl's forearm, reaching all the way up to her elbow. That led to a rather nice appraisal of the way she filled out the jeans, and with that, Brooke realized she was actually leering at the woman's ass.

Coughing in embarrassment, she was unprepared when the dark-haired girl turned, and immediately locked eyes with her. The coughing turned into an unexpected choke, and suddenly she was nearly keeling over in an attempt to get a good breath.

"Are you okay?!" Grabbing her outstretched hand, the other girl began to pound her back good naturedly.

"Fine. Fine," she managed, red-faced, as other women were now staring at them both. "Sorry. Thanks." Straightening, she tried to salvage what was left of her dignity. "You don't have to..." Her hurried apology faltered when she realized the girl was staring intensely at her. "What?" Her hand went up to her face. "Do I have something in my teeth?"

"What? NO. Um..." Crossing her arms, the other girl bit her lip in sudden recognition. "Brooke McQueen, right?"

The familiarity of her name coming from the pretty stranger's lips threw her offguard significantly. "Yes?" she managed, startled.

"From Richardson's class? Mythology 101?"

Her eyes widened. "Oh my God! You go to USC?"

"Yeah! I see you in class all the time!"

"Oh!" Brooke felt suddenly embarrassed. "I'm sorry... I don't..."

"You wouldn't. I sneak into the back."

But the face did have a striking familiarly to it. Her eyes narrowed, and the recognition hit her. "You sit in the quad after class."

"Umm... Ladies? Line's moving," came a dry voice behind them, and Brooke blushed, moving forward dutifully.

There was a moment of silence, and the dark-haired girl turned around again. "I'm Dusty."

Taking the outstretched hand gingerly, Brooke's brow furrowed. "Dusty?"

"I know, I know... My mother named me after Dusty Springfield and then promptly regretted it when I turned into Joan Jett."

"There's nothing wrong with that," Brooke said simply, and Dusty sighed dramatically.

"Tell my mother, the Republican." A lapse of silence fell between them.

The bartender who gave her the free drink moved past them, and catching Brooke's eyes, shot her a smile.

"Nice," Dusty said, and Brooke rolled her eyes humbly.

"She's gave me a free drink," Brooke admitted. "Probably because I was nice to enough to be horrified on her behalf because a lady took liberties."

"Hmm. Well, just wait until the end of the night."

"What happens at the end of the night?"

"They throw water on themselves," Dusty said, eyes sparkling mischievously. "And on everyone else."

"Wow," Brooke responded, intrigued and scandalized at the same time. "I might have to stay for that."

Eyeing her, Dusty's eyes narrowed, lost in thought. Brooke grinned, self conscious. "What?"

"I just... I didn't expect to see you here," Dusty offered, smiling in apology. "I mean, you're in a sorority, right?"

"Ah... so sorority girls can't be gay?" she asked good-naturedly.

"Bi-Curious, maybe. Full out gay? It's an oddity," Dusty remarked, leaning against the wall and grinning. "Though I was never one to type-cast. I get it enough because of this damned tattoo."

"You don't give a damn about your bad reputation?" Brooke replied, eyes sparkling.

"Oh, that was bad," Dusty remarked, laughing despite herself. "That was really bad."

"I know, I'm sorry. I couldn't help myself."

"Ladies? Seriously. Just get each others numbers or go dance, but friggin' MOVE if you're not going to use the bathroom!"

Brooke blinked, glancing behind them, and with a secret smile at Dusty, she took one step forward.

Shimmying in beside her, Dusty leaned into her ear. "Wanna dance after this?"

A burst of excitement pinged inside of her, and she fought to contain her smile. Leaning back, she stared into the dark eyes and the gorgeous smile.

"Sure."

\--

Dusty was in a band. She was the lead guitarist but she didn't quite have the pipes to sing lead, so she settled for playing the best guitar she could. She was in the music

program at USC, studying classical guitar on a scholarship. She landed in Brooke's mythology class on a whim, because she had always been fascinated with the gods and goddesses of that culture, and lived off campus, busy trying to get gigs for her band and working a part-time job at Hot Topic.

She was also absolutely beautiful, in a husky voiced, rocker chick kind of way, and when Carmen suggested she join them for an after hours snack, Brooke had absolutely no complaint.

"So, this is going to sound really dumb," Dusty said, digging her hands into the pockets of her jeans, lingering behind Brooke's friends as they made their way through the parking lot towards Jerry's Deli. "But are you okay?"

Thrown off guard by the concerned question, Brooke's steps faltered, turning toward the other girl. "What do you mean?"

Dusty actually looked nervous. Pushing her dark hair out of her eyes, she rocked back on her heels, and let out a frustrated little grunt. "Okay, I have to be honest."

"Okay."

"I hang out in the quad, you know that."

"Right."

"Well, you were talking on the phone this one day..." Lips pressing together in thought, Dusty looked acutely embarrassed. "And you looked so upset, and I had no idea how to go up to you and ... I felt like an asshole but I didn't know what to do."

Shivering, Brooke's smile fell from her lips, and she remembered exactly the conversation Dusty was referring to.

"Oh," she began.

"I'm sorry," Dusty said again. "But I always kinda hated myself for not going up to you to see if you were okay, and I just... I had to make sure..."

"Umm, wow." Stepping back, Brooke tried to process it, and found herself smiling tightly, purposefully ignoring the painful itch in her heart. "No, it's... It's fine, I just... um... You caught me at a really bad place."

"I figured. If you want to forget it..." Dusty now seemed fidgety, burying herself further into her leather jacket. "I don't usually pry. I hate that shit, but... You looked so sad... And it kinda... It's kinda turning me into a rambling idiot."

"No," Brooke said, licking her lips and reaching forward with her hand. "No. It's fine. I'm fine." She smiled painfully. "I'm getting there," she answered, more honestly. "Thank you for caring."

Dusty looked genuinely relieved, and for that, Brooke leaned forward, and pressed a gentle kiss on the other girl's cheek.

Dusty's skin was soft, and her eyes were deep and dark. Brooke held her breath as she stared at her.

"You're beautiful," Dusty said, a hoarse whisper, and Brooke believed her.

\--

"So..." Up to her elbows in soap and water, Jane eyed her from above the kitchen sink. "What's the word? Are you coming here for summer vacation or not?"

Clearing her throat roughly, Brooke felt suddenly exposed, glancing from Mac to Jane. "Oh." Buying herself some time, Brooke carefully measured out a spoonful of Gerber's graduates, and fed it to her baby sister. "Well... I'm not sure yet."

There were a multitudes of 'what-ifs?' associated with that answer, and Brooke didn't feel prepared to deal with any of those. She hadn't spoken to Sam since their last conversation, and while Sam had sent her a couple emails in the months that had passed, Brooke's responses had always been awkward, formal.

How did you deal with someone who thought being with her made her a horrible person?

Brooke had just begun to feel like she had raised her head above water. Selfishly, the thought of drowning again was unappealing.

"I was thinking of staying at school, you know? The paper could use me for the summer staff and I could go out on assignments... There's a couple summer classes I'm supposed to take. My journalism professor really wants me to try to catch up on my photography basics and there's this course..."

"Brooke, I'm not going to lie to you, I can't stand the thought of this place being empty during the summer. I know you have your classes and whatever, and I know you're both desperate to get out of the house, but can't you do some of this from home? It's not far away! I'll pay for the gas!" It was a surprising outburst.

"Wait," she blinked, spoon full of food pausing mid air. "Sam isn't going to be here?"

"No, she wants to stay on campus this summer." A sudden burst of unexpected disappointment flooded her stomach. "Honestly, I don't know what it is with you two! What's so horrible about being here for a couple months? Your father and I are not the Devil."

Mac made a sudden cry of distress, and Brooke shook her head, startled back into movement when she realized her little sister was using gymnastic like tactics to try to get at the spoon, held just out of her reach.

"Oh, God, Sorry, Mac!" Smiling guiltily, she fed her little sister, shameful at the look of infant outrage on the tiny face. "You're not the Devil, Jane," she acknowledged. "I'm sorry, I didn't know..." Straightening, she forced a smile. "Look, I was hoping to save money anyway. I was thinking about doing an overseas semester next year."

Jane eyed her suspiciously. "Stay here for the summer and you got a deal."

Brooke grinned. "Italy?"

"Wherever. But you stay here and you help me with Mac this summer. And you clean out that fish's water. I hate that job."

"Deal," she said.

It was a good thing Sam wasn't coming, she told herself, as the kitchen lapsed into silence, interrupted only by the clank of dishes and the occasional outburst from Mac. It meant Sam didn't want to see her, that nothing had changed, and if that was the case, Brooke didn't want to see her either.

It was easier not to think about Sam when she didn't have to deal with her. It had become habit to push the feelings Sam brought out deep down inside of her, and Brooke didn't need that habit broken.

Not when she was starting to believe she was actually getting over her.

\--

"You can stop being a pissy little girl about this," Brooke said, pulling to a stop in front of her house, and shooting the other girl a grin. Sighing dramatically, Dusty pulled her sunglasses lower on the bridge of her nose and shot her a half hearted glare. "You had to meet them eventually."

"I don't meet parents," Dusty grumbled, and fumbled with her seatbelt. "They don't like me."

"Why wouldn't they like you?" she asked, as Dusty glared at her from over the car.

"Because I have a tattoo!" Dusty answered, pointing emphatically at the snake entwining her fore arm. "And my hair is dyed and I wear entirely too much eye-make up."

"Yes, we've already discussed that," Brooke said.

"Shut up," she grumbled. "Not to mention, I'm in a band, and you know those rock people have all sorts of questionable habits and breed bad people."

"Okay, stop," Brooke said, giggling as she reached the back of her car. Reaching for Dusty's hand, she drew the other girl nearer to her. "Straighten up," she added, when Dusty rolled her eyes, smirk playing on her mouth. "You said you wanted to meet them."

"And you said, you'd only be bringing a few things back for the summer," Dusty retorted, staring at the overflowing pile in the trunk. "We both lied."

She laughed in spite of herself. "You wouldn't have agreed to help if I had actually told you the truth. You should have known." Curling a hand around Dusty's waist, she reached up to once again attempt to brush the stray lock of black hair out of Dusty's eyes. Unreasonably, it fell back into place. Brooke decided she liked it that way. "Come on. We don't have to tell them we're dating."

"Hmmm... Good idea." Dusty answered playfully, looking relieved as she slid possessive palms around Brooke's waist, bringing her in closer. "I could lure them with my nonthreatening charm and then when they fall in love with me, we'll lay it on them."

Pressed against Dusty's body, she found herself sighing raggedly. Forehead falling against her own, Brooke gave her a quick squeeze. "There is a flaw in your plan."

"What's that?"

"You're hugging me kinda close for just friends, honey."

"I know. Somehow I can't seem to let go."

Grinning, Brooke snuck a quick peck on the other girl's lips, rubbing affectionately at her shoulders.

"Brooke! You're here!"

The sound of her step-mother's voice, coming behind her caused Dusty's eyes to widen suddenly. "Uh-oh. Busted The family's here."

"Jane's the nice one," Brooke said, palm pressed against Dusty's cheek reassuringly. "Relax. You get in good with her, my Dad is in the bag."

"Uhuh, and what about the brunette staring daggers at me?"

Her smile froze. "What?"

Dusty nodded behind her, hands dropping to her side, polite smile frozen on her face.

Swallowing hard, Brooke turned slowly around and discovered Jane standing on the sidewalk, a very familiar, expressionless brunette beside her.

The world teetered, and Brooke found her world eclipsed by one word.

"Sam."


	13. You Lower Yours

Brooke had never had the misfortune of being punched in the gut: she had always preferred to internalize her pain. She had, however, once had a conversation with Josh in which he described the feeling.

He said that beyond the pain, what really left you crippled was the fact that for the moment, you couldn't breathe. He said it was the ultimate humiliation because a punch to the stomach was something done to suckers, the least suspecting victims that had all the breath pushed out of them and were left to scramble on the floor, helpless and floundering.

She never really understood what he was talking about, until she caught sight of Sam.

Rooted to the ground in frozen amazement, Brooke clutched onto Dusty in such a forceful way the other girl audibly hissed in surprise.

"Sam decided to spend the summer with us after all," Jane said, filling the silence with a cheery smile and an outstretched arm. "We haven't met."

Speechless, Brooke dragged her eyes from the cool dark gaze of Sam to her bewildered girlfriend. Thankfully, Dusty managed to keep her senses when Brooke's had flown out the window.

"Hi," Extricating herself as well as she could from Brooke's clutches, she met Jane's hand in a firm handshake. "I'm Dusty."

"This is Dusty," she repeated weakly, a little too late. There was an awkward silence, as she became the unwanted recipiant of two bewildered glances. Flushing, she looked away.

"Dusty, I'm Jane," Jane voice was warm. "The brooding young lady behind me is Sam. Thanks for helping Brooke with her things!"

"Well, you're welcome," Dusty said good-naturedly. "But to be fair, had I known how much stuff there actually was, I may have reconsidered."

On the surface, she was charming, and funny. A minute glance back at Brooke, colored eyes were clouded with doubt, revealed the vulnerability behind them ask.

It was that second of fragile pleading that forced her attention away from the still quiet Sam. Shoulders straightening, she inhaled deeply.

"Well," she said, drawing her fingertips reassuringly down the inked curve of Dusty's forearm. "Score one for me, then."

With gritted teeth and a determined smile, she unlatched the door and jerked up the trunk.

\-- 

Her step-sister had returned a gothy, repressed mute.

Sam's dark brown hair was shorter than Brooke remembered. She was back to wearing heavy eye make-up, hiding the simple beauty of Sam's round eyes. The shirt she wore was fitted and tight over dark blue jeans. Her mouth was lined darkly with a dark plum lipstick and her ever expressive tongue seemed permanently wedged in the corner of her mouth; a permanent pout.

At the dinner table, she offered no hospitality, and instead kept her eyes on the food she wasn't eating. Every so often, dark doe eyes would venture up to linger on Dusty before returning once again to her uneaten pork chop.

Sam was thinner than she remembered, with pale skin and dark fingernails.

It all added up to something that was very wrong and Brooke's heart ached at the very presence of the troubled girl.

Still, she was recovering from the shock of seeing Sam ages before she would ever be ready, and because of that, Brooke wasn't afforded the luxury of nursing her wounded emotions in private.

It made her needlessly cranky, and in an effort to salvage the evening, Brooke resolved to ignore her completely.

 

Dusty was already nervous enough to seem almost perky. Posture uncomfortably perfect, her rocker chick was trying hard to carry a conversation with a valiant Jane and a stuttering Mike. In between small bites, Dusty pulled at her sleeves, an obvious self conscious attempt to hide the tattoos.

That tiny action flooded her with unexpected warmth, and it was because of it that she pushed past her own own turmoil, deciding instead to do her best to try to make Dusty feel as comfortable as possible.

"Dusty's in a band," she announced in a lapse of conversation. Almost immediately, Dusty's head whirled, messy bangs falling in her face as she gave her a rather frigid glare. "She's really good," Brooke continued, patting her girlfriend's lap reassuringly. "I'm taking the promotional pictures for their website."

"Well, we actually really suck, right now," Dusty said quickly, narrowing her stare at Brooke meaningfully. "I mean, we just play in these dumpy dives-"

"Oh really? What kind of music do you play?" Mike seemed more than politely curious. "I used to play a little rock 'n roll myself, back in the ole' days."

"Oh, please for the love of God, don't get him started," Jane pleaded, dropping her fork on her plate. "The last time I had to hear about the “ole” days we blew a fuse out in the garage."

The memory brought a sincere smile. "Dad's old guitar is back there," Brooke explained.

"The fuse blew because the amp was old," Mike said, peeved. "I'm sure Dusty can appreciate that a Fender needs some real power behind it."

"Uh... I don't know." Dusty cleared her throat, and Brooke felt the warm touch of her palm spread over her thigh. "I'm a Gibson girl myself."

The sudden loud clang of silverware against glass was enough to make even Mike jump.

Sam stood, a sour expression on the pretty face. Stunned, Brooke felt a sudden chill, when brown eyes locked on hers, blazingly furious.

"May I be excused?"

Sam. didn't wait for an answer.

It was an awkward silence that followed.

"She's had a rough week," Jane said quietly, before smiling at Dusty. "More potatoes?"

The ease at which Sam and her behavior had been dismissed was startling, and immediately, the tension bubbling in Brooke's stomach erupted in fury.

"Wait, what?" Fingers curling into fists, Brooke's eyes narrowed angrily at her step mother. "That's all she gets? A tough week?"

"Brooke," Mike began.

"We have a guest," she seethed, through gritted teeth. "And Sam is acting like a spoiled bitch."

"Brooke, that's enough," Jane snapped. "And behave yourself." A stern glare went meaningfully at Dusty, and Brooke's eyes snapped shut tight, frustrated beyond belief.

"Is there a bathroom?!" Dusty asked suddenly, her voice a squeak.

Mike was immediately on his feet. "Yes, of course." He smiled warmly. "Come on, I'll show you where it is."

Brooke's girlfriend's expression was uncomfortable, and for that Brooke regretted her outburst. Her smile as she passed was bittersweet, apologetic.

As Dusty and Mike left the kitchen, Jane's was anything but.

"Is it really the end of the world to sit down to dinner, and expect you two to behave yourselves?" her step-mother asked quietly.

"Why didn't you tell me she was coming?" Eyes glittering with anger, her tone was low, furious. "Was this your idea?"

"I wasn't aware I needed your permission to allow my daughter to come home for the summer, Brooke."

Digusted, her silverware dropped to her plate. Pushing away from the table, Brooke threw her arms up, surrendering. "No, you know what, Jane? You don't. You and Sam are welcome to this place."

"What is THE MATTER with you, Brooke? She is your sister!"

Something about the words, said at that time, in that situation, incensed her. She couldn't hear it. She didn't want to hear it. Shoulders rolling with the force of her reaction, she whirled. "She is NOT my sister!" Brooke's eyes were a blazing torrent of hurt and frustration. "You can't force us together and expect us to believe that, Jane. You can't! Why do you keep doing it?! WHY?! Sam and I are never going to be sisters. We're never going to act like sisters, so why can't you just DEAL with it and let us BOTH move on?!"

The tirade left her breathless. Crumpling against the table, she pressed her palms over her face, now wanting to see Jane's reaction.

"Well, forgive me, Brooke." The tone in Jane's voice was hurt, tired. "But I can't give up on wanting to see the two of you together, and do you know why? Because you're amazing when you're together."

It was the last thing she expected to hear, and the surprise forced the hands away from her face.

"The two of you... exhaust so much energy and focus on hating each other than you never realize how amazing the two of you are when you really connect. You're both passionate, powerful women and when you two work together there is absolutely nothing you can overcome. I've seen it, Brooke. I've seen what happens when the two of you forget that you hate each other. There's a connection there that it's so deep that you seem to complete each other."

Brooke's soul twisted inside of her. Eyes riveted on the table, she stared at her palms, and struggled to breath. A warm hand settled on her shoulder, meant to be reassuring, as Jane moved into the chair beside her.

"It just seems so ridiculous, to let that go to waste. Not when Mike and I both see it. You don't have to be sisters, Brooke. But if you were friends..."

Head lowering, Brooke closed her eyes, and tried to work past her furiously beating heart.

"Sam needs you, Brooke. She's here because she had nowhere else to go. She's not doing well in school, since after Spring Break..."

Her eyes opened again, shooting Jane a surprised glance.

"What do you mean?" Brooke's voice was rough.

Jane's mouth trembled in a shaky smile. "You don't have to be Sam's sister, Brooke. But I would really love it, if for this summer, you could be her friend." Squeezing her shoulder, Jane rose. "You seem to be in a much better place than she is."

Afraid to get up for fear her knees would give out on her, Brooke wasn't so sure.

\-- 

"So, your step sister is an absolute treat."

Sitting in silence, parked in the red zone outside Dusty's Hollywood Hills apartment complex, Brooke could only offer a bittersweet smile.

"I'm sorry," she managed, fiddling with her key chain, jingling on the ignition, turning to eye the woman slumped in the seat across from her. "I think you managed to catch everyone at their worst."

"Hmm." Dusty's head pressed back against the headrest, as she contemplated the thought. "Is it wrong that it actually made me feel a little better?"

Brooke's brow arched in a curious response.

"If you guys were perfect," she explained, "I think I would have been scared out of my mind. As it was, I think I came off pretty well."

Sighing raggedly, she stared out into the darkness, watching the flash of headlights as cars drove by. Soft fingers meshed with her own, bringing her back to the lovely face of Dusty.

"You okay?"

It was a straightforward question, and as Brooke absorbed it, she shook her head in bewilderment. "Yeah," she breathed, oddly surprised by the realization. "I mean... I bring my girlfriend home and my step-sister freaks out and my stepmother completely pulls out the rug from under me and yet, it's STILL better than waking up from a coma."

"Imagine that," Dusty said sarcastically, and Brooke smiled, squeezing her fingers lovingly. "You are going to tell me what the hell that's all about, right?"

She studied the fingers currently in her grasp, and without thinking, brought them to her mouth.

"Where would you want to start?"

They smelled of lotion, and there were calluses on the tips, from years of plucking strings.

"We could start with the coma," Dusty began. "And then lead into why your step-sister wants to kill me."

"Do you really want to know?" Brooke asked. Dusty stared at her silently. "I might not be worth all this trouble," she whispered unsteadily.

Moonlight filtered into the car in stripes, and half of Dusty's face was hidden in shadows. Still, the crystal eyes were illuminated with an intoxicating sort of depth.

"I think it's little too late for me to think you're anything but."

Reaching forward, the other girl cupped her chin lovingly; a gentle caress. There was a lingering moment, and then Dusty leaned forward, covering her mouth in a demanding, possessive kiss.

Eyes closing instinctively, Brooke lost herself in the moment, opening her mouth and her heart.

\-- 

It was late when she slipped into the kitchen, shutting the door as silently as she could behind her before rubbing her palm against her swollen lips and heading for the refrigerator.

She was too tired to think, and was grateful for that. Grabbing a glass from the cupboard, she pressed it against the ice maker, slumping against the cool metal of the fridge door for support.

Light flooded the kitchen as she was filling her glass with water, and it was so startling she nearly sent the entire thing crashing, salvaging it by splashing liquid all over the place.

"Dammit!" she hissed, turning and fumbling with the slippery glass, grimacing at the wetness before turning a startled gaze to her unwelcome intruder.

Naturally, it was Sam in the doorway, barefoot in a flannel pajama top and tiny shorts, looking sullen and sleepy and intoxicatingly sexy.

Swallowing hard, Brooke decided she wasn't in the mood.

"Don't worry," she snapped, when Sam failed to speak. Licking at her wet fingers, she ventured toward the sink and deposited her glass. "I'm leaving."

"Was that your girlfriend?" The short, desperate tone was oddly off-putting, and Brooke's annoyance only grew when she felt the telltale ache in her heart.

"We're dating," she confirmed matter-of-factly, arm dropping to her side as she leaned her hip against the counter. "Sam, I really don't want to do this right now. It's late. I’m tired."

Walking as fast as she could, she tried to brush past her ex-lover, determined to end this night without the added drama of a confrontation.

With one palm against her stomach, Sam stopped her. "Wait."

Brooke's eyes shut tight, and she stayed put. "What?" she breathed, eyes opening and turning her head, to look deeply into dark, intensely beautiful orbs.

Mouth turned down, Sam's face was clouded with conflict. "I'm sorry," she said finally. "I shouldn't have acted that way."

It had been months since she had been alone with Sam, and the last time they had been together, they had been naked, curled together as the sweat cooling off their bare skin formed goosebumps. Brooke's mouth had been fresh with the taste of Sam's sex and she remembered Sam's mouth luxuriously planting warm kisses against her lips, her chin, her cheeks, licking the essence away.

In an instant, her heart began to race, and she felt the goosebumps return, wrinkling on her skin at the pressure of Sam's palm against her stomach, at the burning look of Sam's intense gaze.

Sam's mouth was a perfect pout, and she remembered how her lips had clung so sweetly to hers.

It would have been so easy, to lean forward, to capture that mouth with her own. To feel that again.

But her lips were swollen with another girl's kisses, and the memory of Sam's last words to her before tonight haunted her as vividly as the feelings she arose within her.

"I'm sorry too," she said honestly, before reaching up covering Sam's hand with her own, ignoring the burning touch. Grasping with her fingers, Brooke tore her gaze away from Sam's mouth and pulled away from Sam's intoxicating hold.

She let out a heavy breath as she left Sam behind, and teetered up the stairs.

Brooke was acutely aware of one truth: she had missed Sam terribly.

\-- 

Despite the heartbreak that had occurred when Sam had ended things for good, Brooke had to admit that there had been one or two positives.

For the last month, she hadn't felt like she was being torn apart. Every date with Dusty had been easy, complicated only with the usual uncertainties that happened when something was new. There were awkward conversations rife with sexual tension and there was lingering glances over tables and the decision about whether or not they were comfortable enough to hold hands in public. (Dusty was, Brooke was not.)

She discovered that she and Dusty didn't have a terrible amount in common, but there was enough to find a common ground. Dusty had enough of the club scene when she played, and trips to gay bars were rare. Despite her ragged outward appearance, she preferred light fare: dinners, movies. She wasn't used to quiet, and they weren't quite at comfortable silences yet, but they were getting there.

She found out from the bass player that Dusty's friends called her 'Princess' when she wasn't around and it bothered Dusty. And she also found out from the bass player that she was sorry they did it, because Brooke had apparently won them over with her offer to take some promo pictures with her camera and put their gig in the Daily Trojan events calendar.

They now called her 'Princess' to her face and the same bass player was dating Maria, who accompanied her on Friday nights to The Gig, a small club for small bands where Dusty's group 'Elphaba Thropp' had a regular gig.

Dusty had groupies, which Brooke found amusing, apart from the fact that they all seemed to hate Brooke. They would throw murderous glances her way whenever the set would finish and Dusty would greet her with a sweaty smile.

Those were her complications.

Not once had she lied in bed agonizing over how to talk to Dusty. Tossing and turning over admitting her love because to think of it was wrong. Not once had she gotten into a conversation with Dusty and ended up throwing food in her face or been tossed on the bed to engage in angry, desperate lovemaking.

It didn't change the fact that one second alone with Sam led to Brooke wanting to bury herself inside of her and never come out. Nor did it change the way she reacted to Sam, the feelings that ripped through her the moment she laid eyes on the other girl.

Her feelings for Dusty were different than they were for Sam, and it was safer. It was... Easier.

Lying in her bed, wide awake, Brooke found herself understanding Sam and Rebecca in a way she had never bothered to before.

Shifting, she punched the pillow into a ball and stuffed it under her head, restless in her thoughts.

Jane's words lingered in her head like an impossible echo.

Rubbing at her chest, Brooke took a hard swallow and stared at the bathroom door.

Flopping over, Brooke curled the sheets into her body and ignored the image of Sam in this bed with her.

The gauntlet had been thrown, and that night, Brooke told herself she had to make a decision.

Whatever Jane had said didn't change what Sam had told her.

The bathroom light clicked on, she heard it, saw the shift of darkness in her room.

Holding her breath, Brooke didn't move, paralyzed with anticipation.

No one came to her door, and when the light shut off again, Brooke let out a long breath, unsure if she was relieved or disappointed.

She decided she was relieved.

\-- 

Little Mac was growing, and although she teetered when she walked, she had never seemed more sure of herself.

There was no way a baby could have as much energy as Mac did. It had to be abnormal.

It made changing her diaper an Olympic feat.

"Mac, come on!" Brooke pleaded, half joking, when the baby curled herself over, flopping onto her belly, naked bottom up in the air. "Stay still, for like, a second."

"NO!" Mac growled, giggling, trying to crawl away.

"Oh, no you don't," Brooke retorted, grabbing hold of the baby by her hips, pulling her back. "We're changing this diaper."

"No!" Mac cried again, exploding into childish laughter. "Nonononono!"

Biting down on her lip, Brooke struggled, trying to flip her over as gently as she could. The chubby legs and arms flailed in the air.

"NOO!"

"That looks like fun."

Glancing up, she discovered Sam in the doorway, palms rubbing down the thighs of her sweat pants, eyeing her nervously.

Caught with an armful of baby, Brooke didn't have the energy to maintain her cool demeanor.

Blowing her bangs out of her sweaty face, she gave up, letting Mac sit up, victorious. "This kid is like your Mini-Me, borne and bred to say no to anything and everything."

"NOOOOO!" Mac shrieked, and Brooke winced.

"Little help here?" she added, when Sam arched a bewildered eyebrow.

"Uh... sure." Dropping to her knees, Sam scuttled forward. "What should I do?"

"Just hold her shoulders. Keep her flat on her back," Brooke instructed. "And I will do the fastest diaper wrap in history. Wanna time me?" She tossed the other girl a challenging glare.

The small smile on Sam's face was answer enough. "Ready?" she said, grabbing hold of the baby and keeping her flat. "GO!"

"Oh, God," Brooke said, erupting in laughter when Mac's legs flew in the air, kicking her in the chin.

"Nononononono!"

"Yesyesyes!" Brooke chattered back, grabbing hold of the chubby legs and sliding a diaper underneath her bottom as quickly as she could.

"You're doing amazing so far," Sam said dryly.

"Shut up," Brooke snapped. "Like you can do better."

"I can always do better."

"Fine, narcissist. Next time, this job is all you." She struggled, curving the diaper in between Mac's legs and wrapping as well as she could.

"But you need the practice!"

"Oh, shut up!" The last strap was secured and Mac sprang free, weaseling out of Sam's grasp and getting unsteadily on her feet.

"Noonononononono!" Yelling at the top of her lungs, the baby tottered her way out of the living room, presumably to the safety of Mike and Jane in the kitchen.

"I can't believe that kid actually made me break a sweat!" Shaking her head in wonderment, Brooke flopped back. "Thank God that kid is getting potty trained."

Sam didn't respond, and the silence that followed her statement forced her to lean up on her elbows. The other girl was still there, but she was fidgety, a weird mimic of herself. Her tongue floated in and out of her mouth, and Brooke recognized the gesture. It was Sam at her most self-conscious.

It was hard not to follow suit. Sighing, she settled into a more comfortable position.

"What? Come on, Sam," she continued, when her step-sister hesitated. "Just say whatever you want to say."

Dark eyes closed, and Sam erupted in a bitter laugh. "It's not that easy."

"No," Brooke answered carefully. "That's where we're both wrong. It is that easy. What's not easy is listening to what we have to say."

Brown eyes caught her own, an intense stare. "And what do you have to say?"

Fingers curling instinctively, she managed nonetheless to keep her face carefully closed. "I already said it."

Sam's eyes were curiously moist, her demeanor seemed almost small, so different than what she had remembered.

It made her want to care.

"You're avoiding me like I have the plague."

The sentence seemed to come out of nowhere, and Brooke glanced up, genuinely surprised. "Probably because the last time I talked to you, you told me that being around me made you a bad person."

It still hurt, to hear it out loud, and she found herself suddenly emotional, shaking her head and shifting suddenly.

"God... Brooke, I'm sorry." Pale, flawless skin seemed now mottled with emotion, and slender fingers reached toward her hand. "I can't believe I said that to you. I wanted to hurt you, and I don't know why I did..."

Jerking away, Brooke shuddered, mouth a tight line. "Because you meant it."

Sam stared at her, eyes intensely locked on her own. "I was in a really bad place, Brooke. Maybe I meant it then, but if I did, it was only for a second. I've regretted what I've said to you ever since."

It was as close to an apology she would ever get. Brooke supposed she should have been grateful. She wasn't.

"Did you mean what you said?"

Brooke smiled sadly. "I hope you know me well enough to know I did." But she still pulled out of Sam's grasp.

Sam's mouth trembled slightly. "But not anymore, right?"

Brooke let out an uneasy breath. "I asked you to let me move on, Sam."

"Yeah," Sam said, nodding mechanically, smile fake and plastic, "I guess I just can't understand how the hell you did it so easily."

"Oh, God," Brooke breathed, infuriated. "So that's what this about? You can't stand the fact that I got over you?" Struggling to her feet, she shook her head. "You know what? Screw you, Sam. Getting over you was the hardest thing I ever had to do. And that includes getting through comas, and car accidents and eating disorders." Moving toward the doorway, she hesitated, whirling around. "And you know what? You really are one to talk. What about you and Rebecca?"

"What ABOUT me and Rebecca?!" Sam said, scrambling up.

"Don't play dumb, Sam," she sneered. "Abby told me all about it."

"Oh, God, FUCKING ABBY AGAIN." Hands on her hips, Sam had never looked so angry. "What the hell did that angel tell you?!"

"The truth!" Brooke's arms crossed over her chest. "That you two were getting back together-"

"Rebecca and I never got back together!" Sam snapped, brown eyes wide with impatience and frustration.

The news hit her hard. "What?" she breathed.

"Yeah. The closest I ever got to Rebecca after spring break was when I got really drunk at her place miserable over the fact that I was completely in love with you and then crashed in her bed." Droplets began to appear on Sam's cheeks, and Brooke found herself frozen in horrified amazement. "But what the hell do I know? If Abby says it it must be true."

Pushing past her, Sam exited the room.

Brooke was lost, left behind as the words did their damage.

"Oh, God," she breathed, head falling to her palm.


	14. Chapter 14

"Brooke, there you are!"

Speechless, Brooke stared mutely as Sam's mother strode into the living room, a wiggling Mac propped up against her hip like a sack of flour.

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere!”

Wearing a distracted frown, Jane unceremoniously swung her into Brooke's arms.

"Do you mind watching Mac for a couple of hours? I can't find Sam anywhere and I have to show a house in twenty minutes."

Surprised, Brooke could only stutter. "Umm... sure?" she squeaked, before Mac twisted like a pretzel and very nearly slipped out of her grip.

Jane’s brow burrowed. “Are you okay? You look a little pale.”

“Fine,” she managed quickly, almost a little hysterically. Skeptical, Jane studied her for a moment. “You’re going to be late,” Brooke added, and it was enough to give her step-mother a well-meaning push, as Jane flashed a thankful smile and turned on her heel, leaving the sisters to fend for themselves.

“Dinner’s in the oven,” she tossed over her shoulder.

Left behind in silence, Brooke felt as if she had been pulled in and out of a hurricane.

"Down!" Mac squealed, and Brooke gasped, forced away from her whirling thoughts when faced with the very real threat of dropping Mac on her head.

"No, Mac!" she said, more forceful than she intended. Feverish with sudden emotion, Brooke didn’t want to contemplate the horror that would befall her and Mac if she actually let that little bundle of energy get hurt.

Clamping Mac to her, she swallowed, afraid to move for fear her knees would give out and betray her weakness.

\--

In a dirty sandbox, Little Mac was the picture of bliss. Grinning gleefully, she shot a proud glance at Brooke, palms slapping against the mounds of sand, before babbling incoherently and returning to her game of piling as much sand as she could into a pile on her legs.

Inwardly wincing at the verbal lashing she would get if Jane ever became aware of the fact that Brooke let her little sister play in a public sandbox ("Those places are a mecca for disease!"), Brooke nevertheless shot her sister a reassuring smile and reached with shaky hands for her cellphone.

Sandboxes were Mac's weakness. She liked to build, and Jane and Mike would often muse that they had a little engineer or architect on their hands.

Brooke didn't have the discipline to ponder Mac's ultimate fate. Too much energy was already focused on Mac's older sister.

Getting out of the house had been the coward's option, but at the moment, in charge of a baby, it seemed the only viable one. Charging after Sam and ordering her to open the door, all the while juggling an antsy Mac and her own volatile emotions, wouldn't have worked.

She knew it.

And still, she didn't trust herself not to do just that.

So to the playground she went.

Shivering in her coat despite the heat, Brooke flipped open the cellphone and searched for Abby's name.

The number popped up obediently, and Brooke stared hard at the number displayed, before wincing and pressing 'send'.

Her eyes stayed on Mac, as the baby toddler happily buried her sand over her shoes, grabbing fistfuls of the stuff and sprinkling it down on her mound.

She envied Mac’s innocence.

Abby's voice clicked into her ear. "Brooke! What's up?!"

The cheerful tone created an unexpected shudder of anger, and oddly numb since Sam’s outburst earlier, the feeling fueled her.

"Brooke?"

She tried to offer a greeting, but the words clogged in her mouth like bile. Swallowing down the rancid taste, she pressed her palm to her forehead, and closed her eyes. "Why did you lie to me?"

There was a pause. "What?" Abby sounded bewildered.

She wasn't in the mood for games. "Don't, Abby, okay? Just don't. You know exactly what I'm talking about."

"Clearly, I don't, Brooke."

"Goddammit, Abby! REALLY?!" Mouth clamping together in disgust, Brooke became aware of the disapproving stares of the other mothers and sitters, of little Mac suddenly staring at her in alarm. Flushing, she only shook her head. “How could you do that, Abby? You lied to me.”

Abby wasn’t stupid, and while Brooke was sure she had been taken by surprise; it didn’t take long for the other girl to catch up.

A long, ragged sigh emanated in her ear, and Abby’s voice took on a resigned tone. “What do you want me to say, Brooke?”

She was hurt, she would admit that. “So you did lie to me.”

“No,” Abby voice was firm, almost a little desperate. “I didn’t lie to you.”

“You said they had gotten back together!”

“At the time, I thought they had!” Eyes stinging with unshed emotion, Brooke refused to close them. She stared hard at Mac, willing herself to listen as Abby began an earnest explanation. “Look, when I emailed you that they were getting back together, Sam had just spent the entire night in Rebecca’s room. What the hell was I supposed to think?”

“And what?” she asked angrily. “You couldn’t wait to tell me?”

“No, that wasn’t it-“

“And what about when you realized it wasn’t true!”

“I tried to tell you, Brooke, okay?” Abby’s voice flared in angry defense. “But by then Sam had already fucked it all up with you by telling you she didn’t want to be with you because you made her a bad person. You remember that?”

“Abby…” she began, a warning.

“No! Listen to me. You want to hear the truth? Here’s the whole damned truth: You told me you didn’t want to hear shit about Sam after what she said. Not one word. So I didn’t tell you. And to be honest? The girl is such a bitch to me I didn’t feel tremendously inclined to lobby on her behalf. I mean, FUCK, Brooke. I’m not a damned saint, and I never pretended to be, but that girl has hated me forever. I’m not going to be everyone’s damned pariah just because I had the audacity to sleep with you or Rebecca.”

It was a rant, one that Brooke was sure had been building up in Abby for quite some time.

“God,” she breathed, palm falling to her head. “Bitter much?” There wasn’t much bite in the words, there couldn’t be.

Brooke could have just as easily been speaking to herself.

Phone to her ear, her eyes once again found Mac, rising unsteadily to her feet. Brooke automatically followed.

Abby’s choked laughter was almost bitter. “You try being complacent with always being a second choice.”

“You weren’t a second choice,” Brooke said, and it was a complete lie.

She hated herself a little for it.

\--

Sandbox exertion had worn Mac out, and Brooke struggled with the little tyke, trying to maneuver her way into the house with the toddler stretched out over her torso, dribbling drool all over her neck and shoulder.

Wincing a little at the moisture seeping through her collar, Brooke did the best she could, winding her way around the counter and bravely managing the stairs.

She climbed, and while she did, she considered the odd place she was now in.

She had never before realized how badly she had wanted to move on from Sam and all she had represented. She had never considered how the happenings in Spring Break had affected everyone else involved, including Sam.

Especially Sam.

She knew precious little about what Sam had gone through in the months that had followed.

She knew what Sam had told her – in the form of a hurtful phone call where she had decided to end everything because to have it any other way would have been too hard.

She knew what she had gleaned from Abby – emails and sporadic phone calls that held no mention of Sam at all, because Brooke had wanted it that way.

She had chosen to not deal with Sam because it would hurt less. She shut her out and refused to understand her. She had used her broken heart as an excuse and conveniently forgotten that they were family.

Because it was easier.

In other words, she had done exactly what she had done to Sam less than a year before.

Again.

\--

Feeling dizzy from her imaginary carousel, Brooke wiped sweaty palms on her jeans and stared hard at Sam’s closed bedroom door.

She could dimly hear the sound of music floating from underneath the wall, angry rock that pulsed the door a little, making it seem alive and emotional.

Brooke hesitated. Awareness of what she had to do was hampered with the cynical realization that she had done it once before: gone to Sam searching for forgiveness, pledging to be a friend and a sister in every sense of the word.

She had failed miserably before, weak in her emotions and her intentions.

Sucking in a miserable breath, Brooke curled her fists together and rapped on the door gently.

“Sam?” Her voice was pitchy in her nervousness. Leaning forward, ear millimeters from the door, she waited. Nothing but that same music, now louder.

She grimaced.

“Sam? Please? I’d really like to talk to you.” The music was now obnoxiously loud, and it was angry and bitter. Brooke’s eyes rolled heavenwards, but her resolve was firm. “I’m not going away, Sam.” Her arms crossed in front of her. “Sam, open the door or I’ll find Jane’s key.”

The door swung open, a furious blast of loud guitar nearly splitting her ear drums open. In the doorway, Sam stared at her, furious and beautiful in her emotion.

“Can’t take a hint?” she sneered, looking smaller than before in her oversized ‘Northwestern’ sweatshirt.

Brooke’s mouth pressed into a thin line, and she forced herself to take a deep breath. “You’re not going to push me away this time.”

Brooke had to admit, it did sound a tiny bit ironic.

Sam looked incredulous. “Push YOU away?!”

“I know,” she muttered, and then when the music hit a particularly ear splitting guitar solo, a ripple of emotion shuddered through her. “Can we turn that down!?”

Sam blocked the doorway, arms crossed over her chest, her expression fierce determination.

Brooke could have easily looked at the obviously angry woman and walked way, written this relationship as one past saving.

Sam’s eyes, however, haunted her. They were soft and moist, obviously hurt.

The pain in that glance was enough to take her breath away, make her ache.

Closing her eyes, Brooke forced herself to bring her arms down, to ignore the music making her ears bleed. “Please, Sam. I just want to talk.” Sam’s mouth twitched, but she didn’t move. “I meant it, Sam,” she said, louder and more firm than before. “I’m not leaving. I’ll stand here all night and when Jane and my dad ask me what the hell I’m doing I’m going to tell them the truth.”

It was emotional blackmail, but it was a hook, as Sam’s nostrils flared in reaction. “You would,” Sam growled, before her arm fell and she walked back into her room, heading for the stereo.

The relief that flitted through her when she realized Sam was actually allowing her in was overwhelming.

Doing what she could to straighten her expression, Brooke stepped gingerly into the room, feeling a bit like she was walking into a cage with a skittish panther.

Sam looked frightened and small, and the realization that her step-sister, her lover, was actually almost afraid of her created an unexpected surge of tenderness.

This wasn’t her Sammy.

She suddenly wanted to move forward and do nothing but hold Sam, until she wasn’t afraid anymore.

Warily, Sam’s wide mouth pressed into a frustrated frown. “So?”

“So,” Brooke repeated, suddenly breathless. Heart beating so fast it was distracted, Brooke glanced about the room. Uninhabited except for Sam’s brief visits, it was neat and tidy, anything but lived in.

“Brooke, are you just going to stand there like an idiot or are you going to say something?”

Jerking her attention back to Sam, Brooke realized she was stalling. Steadying herself with a ragged inhalation, she smiled sadly. “I’m sorry.”

Her words were sincere, simple, and they took Sam by surprise. That lush mouth opened, closed again, for a millisecond, the defensive posture slacked into an uncertain slouch.

“That’s all I got,” Brooke confirmed, when Sam looked ready to say something else. “I’m sorry. I swore I would never do to you what I had done before, and I did it. I was so afraid of hurting that I cut you out, and yes, you broke my heart, Sam, but it doesn’t mean I stopped caring about you.”

Sam’s brown eyes were dark and bottomless. The sight of them, boring into her own caused an unintentional lump in her throat, and Brooke tried to painfully swallow it down, because this was Sammy.

Sammy was arrogant and proud and meek and humble. She was beautiful and ugly and generous and mean spirited. She was frightened and brave. She was everything Brooke wanted to be and everything she despised.

She was Brooke’s hero and she was Brooke’s nemesis. She was Brooke’s equal and opposite.

She was her walking contradiction and bonded to her in life and love and blood.

It was then that she truly understood why her relationship with Sam hit such highs and lows.

They were indefinable, co-dependant and complicated as all hell.

“I was so focused on you hurting me that I didn’t want to think about what I had done to you.” She sighed, eyes fluttering in self-disgust. “That once again I abandoned you-“

“Brooke…” the word was meek, soft, but like always, her name on Sam’s lips held a different meaning than when it was said by anyone else. “Stop it. I did the same thing to you. I wanted to hurt you. And I did.”

A bitter, faint smile floated onto her lips. “Is that your version of an apology?”

Sam’s careful constructed expression fell apart slightly, with a pained twitch of her lips. “I already apologized.” Breath rushing out of her, the brunette flopped down onto her bed, curling her legs underneath her. Bangs falling forward, Sam focused on her bedspread, picking at loose strands. “I didn’t know how to deal with you, Brooke. So I pushed you away. And that was when I finally got it.”

Brooke blinked, unsure. “Got what?”

Large brown eyes met her own intensely. “Why you did it. Why you pushed me away.”

Sighing raggedly, Brooke’s mouth closed, lips forming a tight line.

The broken laughter that came from Sam was painful to hear. “I spent the entire last year being so angry at you, Brooke. Even when I thought that I wasn’t, it was still there. And it was just too much. To be that in love with you and still hate you for what you did… the anger overwhelmed and I wanted to hurt you. I wanted nothing to do with you. For a split second I wanted nothing to do with you.”

Sam was finally being honest, but to hear the words caused a rampant pain, and she fought to not get angry. Her fingers twitched, and so she curled them against her body, hiding them in her crossed arms.

She owed it to Sam to hear her out.

When she looked at her uncertainly, Brooke’s mouth pressed together into a thin smile. She nodded shortly.

“And then I had what I wanted,” Sam breathed, and her eyes sparkled with emotion, making her beautifully tragic, captivating. “You had cut me out. And that was ten times worse.”

“I know,” she interrupted softly. Coming forward, unable to resist, Brooke sat down beside her Sammy, palm falling against the hot back of the other girl. “I do.”

“How do you know?”

“Because the same thing happened to me.” It was choked admission, and Sam stared at her, startled.

The brown eyes darkened and Sam jerked away, wiping furiously at the tears that insisted on forming.

“Dusty might have a problem with that.”

It was an impossible situation. She knew it.

“Sam,” she began, frustrated beyond belief. “I thought you had chosen Rebecca!” Sam winced, glancing away. “I was incredibly depressed and immensely anti-social- if Harrison and Carmen hadn’t dragged me to that gay bar-“

“Harrison and Carmen did WHAT?!” Bangs flinging her direction, Brooke was met with a disbelieving stare. “Oh, that’s just great. Real loyalty.”

“Sam, they were worried.” Sam’s lower lip quivered, and Brooke suddenly felt irrationally guilty. “Look, I thought you were moving on. I didn’t think there was a chance anymore. Honest, what did you want me to do?”

Dark eyes suddenly pierced into her soul. “What do you want to do?”

It was frightening, the way her heart could lurch the way it did right then. The lust that rose inside of her made her breathless, and she struggled to breathe when her eyes fixated on Sam’s mouth, the undeniable invitation.

God… how could she want this all so badly?

She felt dizzy, intensely aware of Sam’s body, so close to hers.

Fingers curling into the bedspread, she bit down on her bottom lip, and struggled to keep her resolve, even as she felt Sam’s body lean into hers, ever so slightly.

Sam’s eyes glistened with desperation.

It was for that reason, Brooke stayed put, sucking in a lungful of air.

“I want us to be friends, Sammy,” she sounded broken. Sam shuddered, and immediately she reached for her, grabbing hold of her wrist. “I want to us to figure out how to relate to each other the way we used to.” Dark eyes flickered away from her, and she let Sam go, intensely frustrated. “If we don’t, if we don’t have any boundaries, we’re going to keep doing this to each until we kill all the love between us and there’s only hate.” At that, Sam finally stared at her. “I don’t want that to happen,” Brooke finished, as sincerely as she could. “I don’t know if I could live with that.” She felt her chest tighten with emotion. “I love you too much.”

Sam brown eyes shined at her like fractured mirrors. “So you love me,” she clarified, tone bitter and resigned. “But you don’t want to fuck me.”

It would have been so easy to get hurt.

She wouldn’t let it happen.

As honestly as she could, she tried again. “I think that being with you is the most emotional experience I’ve ever had, and it overwhelms me, Sammy.” Dark eyes studied hers intensely. Fragile, she managed as loving a smile as she could give. “It doesn’t make me rational and I’m not sure I know how to handle it. I love you, and I love…” Hesitating, she struggled with the carnal interpretation of their coming together, “fucking you… a little too much.”

“Does it freak you out?”

Heart in her throat, she nodded.

Sam closed her eyes, overwhelmed. “Yeah, me too.”

Sam had always been stunning. Her features had always been picture perfect, marred only by attitude and insecurity. A simple beauty, and capable of taking her breath away.

Her voice was hoarse with emotion. “I wanna be your friend, Sammy. With boundaries, maybe we can start learning how to trust each other again.”

Her eyes stung with tears, and in the long silence as she waited while Sam struggled with the implication, she feared she had said the wrong thing.

Tongue darting out, bathing her lower lip in an uncertain expression, Sam finally glanced up, and managed a trembling smile.

“You know what?” she replied, sounding surprised at herself. “Me too.”

It was then that she felt safe enough to reach out a tentative hand, grasp hold of her step-sister’s fingers. The soft skin was smooth to the touch, and when Sam grabbed hold of her painfully, her eyes flooded with tears.

A brunette head lowered to her shoulder, and they sat together in silence for a long time.

\--

It was late when she returned to her bedroom, emotionally spent and still fragile. The evening was still sacred, still precious and because of that she walked slowly, into the nursery.

Little Mac was still asleep, thumb half in and half out of her mouth.

Overwhelmed, Brooke felt the tears suddenly spring into her eyes. Clamping her palms to her mouth, she began to silently sob, choked with the sudden torrent that overwhelmed her now.

Crumpling against the crib, she shut her eyes and hid from Sam, her family, the world.

She wasn’t sure why she was sobbing, but as the tears wracked her thin body, Brooke became aware that the wall she hadn’t known she had built to guard herself from her own vulnerability, had just as unknowingly been torn down.

\--

Alone with her camera, Brooke considered the angle of Lil’ Bleu Too, swimming in a rather expensive looking filtered aquarium. The colorful fins shone brightly under the fluorescent light, and they rippled like silk.

Brooke wasn’t used to semantics, but she found herself peering through the view finder, setting the macro, curious about the resolution she could get away with.

At first, when her phone began to chirp and buzz, she ignored it.

It didn’t stop, and annoyed, she lowered the camera and reached for the cell phone, flipping it open.

“Hello?”

“Where the hell have you been? I’ve called you like, ten times.”

Dusty’s familiar voice caught up with her, and Brooke found herself blinking, guilt rising as she remembered her girlfriend.

“Oh, God… I’m sorry.” Inhaling sharply, she looked at the time. “You had a practice today-“

“Yeah, and you were supposed to come!”

“I’m sorry!” Suddenly feeling horrible, she swallowed. “I had to babysit Little Mac-“

“And what? You couldn’t call?”

“I could,” she admitted. “You’re right. But then I had a minicrisis with Sam, and… I think I really got through to her, Dusty.”

There was an annoyed pause. “Do you have any idea how pissed at me the guys are? I made them fucking wash their hair, Brooke.”

The thought caused an inappropriate smile to emerge. “I’ll make it up to you.” There was a sexy connotation in her voice that she had used more than once with Josh, Jamie and Adam, and it was rather gratifying to learn it seemed to work with her sex as well.

She could almost see the dirty thoughts starting to emerge in Dusty’s head. “You better,” she grumbled.

Smiling victoriously, Brooke glanced thoughtfully at Sam’s door. “Dusty, can I invite Sam to your gig this Friday?”

“Who?” Dusty asked, obviously thrown at the change in topic. “Wait,” she responded just as quickly, making the connection. “Your step-sister who hates me?”

“She doesn’t hate you,” Brooke responded automatically.

“Right,” said the dryly sarcastic girl. “Baby, if it helped I think she would have peed on you.”

It was an odd statement, coming from her girlfriend, who still had no idea that she and Sam had ever been intimate.

Still, Dusty was sharp and observant; Brooke had realized that rather quickly.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she answered, as calmly as she could.

There was a moment of quiet, and then Dusty sighed audibly. “Right. Whatever, bring her. I don’t care.”

Brooke had quickly come to learn with women: whatever never meant ‘whatever’. It was always something, and Brooke should have discussed it, really hashed it out.

Selfishly, she didn’t want to. Not at that moment.

“Thanks,” she answered. “I really am sorry.”

If Dusty knew what she was really apologizing for, she made no mention of it.


	15. Drive Until You Lose The Road

Brooke McQueen wasn’t sure how ‘together’ she really was, all things considered.

Still, when her eyes drifted open, she awoke with a rather unique sense of calm.

Uncertain, Brooke kept still in bed, buried underneath her covers, and stared up at the ceiling. She took a deep breath, and discovered no hitch, no pressure building inside of her.

Sam was in the room across from her, and even so, there was no impending sense of doom.

Cheek sliding across her sheets, Brooke curled into her side, catching side of the beta fish on her desk, fins fanning lazily.

Nothing ever seemed to happen casually for her. Her life was an awkward whirlwind of extremes, and the presence of Sam in her life only exacerbated that.

But now, Sam was sleeping in the next room, and while Brooke was intensely aware of that, there existed an inexplicable optimism.

Brooke hated to think of herself as an after school special, but she wondered briefly if she was growing as a person.

A tepid knock at the bathroom was enough to make her sit up.

“Come in.”

She watched with a full heart and a growing smile when chubby fingers clumsily reached through the opening crack, and two matching sets of brown eyes and brown hair stared tenuously at her.

The two sisters were a picture-perfect sight, and Brooke found herself suddenly looking for her camera.

“Well, hello!” she said, suddenly sappy beyond belief, as she threw off the blankets, waiting as Sam brought the still sleepy-eyed toddler to her bedside. “Hey there, munchie!”

“Ah, yes.” Sam said, growling good-naturedly, trying to keep a hold of the slippery baby. “There was a bundle of Mac that was thrown on my stomach this morning. It was the best way to wake up ever. We’re babysitting,” she added, a half-hearted explanation. “Mom’s showing a bunch of houses.”

“That’s fine with me,” Brooke breathed, pulling her camera off the nightstand and fussing with the lens cap.

Settling on Brooke’s bed, Sam’s eyes narrowed, nearly letting go of their monkey of a sister’s waist as the baby bounced happily up and down on the bed.

“… What are you doing?”

“Oh, come on,” Brooke breathed, concentrating on attaching her lens. “This is a Kodak moment if I ever saw one.”

“Uhuh. Maybe for Mac. I still have crud in my eyes.”

“It’s nice crud,” Brooke amended. In an impossibly good mood, even Sam’s ever present pout was almost criminally adorable. Bringing the camera up, she looked through the viewfinder, and discovered the beauty of her step-sister all over again.

At the action, Sam glared at her, and immediately hoisted up Mac until the baby was pressed against her cheek, blocking her from the shot.

Lowering the camera, Brooke arched an annoyed brow. “Hey, now. None of that.”

“I mean it,” she heard, muffled behind Mac’s amused giggles as the baby kicked her booty-ed feet. “I look like crap.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to tell Sam that no matter what she was wearing, she was always gorgeous. Brooke’s palm tightened around her camera, and she felt a curious block of awkward emotion. Swallowing hard, she breathed out slowly and too casually, lifted the camera back to eye range, effectively covering her face.

She waited as Mac struggled with her mid-air pose, and then the moment the shot came, as Sam finally lowered the growing baby, she took it, the frame cemented as she saw a flash of amused-against-her-will smile come from Sam.

“Bitch,” Sam mumbled, and Brooke grinned.

“Get dressed,” she said, and reached for Mac. “We’re heading out.”

\-- 

Clad in a kicky little hat and an entirely too expensive dress from Baby Gap, Mac looked like a little fashionista. She was arguably the best dressed of the three, and yet, Brooke didn’t mind.

Dragging around a thirty pound camera bag didn’t allow for dainty heels or nifty little boots, and Brooke had always preferred a simple, classy look.

Sam, on the other hand, always had liked to have an edge, and her dark jeans, black tank top with the skull with a bow on it, and Converse were accentuated with a tangle of black bracelets, silver hoops, and dark-colored nails.

They must have made quite the trio, sitting together as the tram made its way up the track to the Getty Museum.

“Really?” Sam chortled, leaning her head back as they climbed slowly through the hills. “A museum?”

Keeping a steadying hand on Mac, who had her face pressed against the glass, obviously consumed with the view, Brooke shot her a mock glare. “Have you seen the gardens? They’re gorgeous. And there’s a photography exhibit I’ve been really wanting to see.”

Dark eyes moving to the camera bag sitting at Brooke’s feet, Sam appeared contemplative. “You really took that back up.”

Blowing out a haggard breath, Brooke shrugged. “I love it, Sam. I don’t know what really triggered it, but there are some things I see and… I just have to capture it. They’re more than photographs to me. They’re…” she struggled, trying hard to explain it. “Alive.”

Sam’s dark brow rose in response.

Suddenly embarrassed, she laughed awkwardly. “I don’t know.”

“No, I think it’s cool.” Crossing her arms, Sam glanced outside the window, taking in the view. “You were great at school, Brooke, but you were always looking for something else. You weren’t ever really satisfied.”

It was surprisingly insightful, considering Sam’s usual dismissal of her in those days. Straightening, Brooke studied her carefully, feeling fragile. “Is this what it’s like to be you?” ”

Dark eyes met her own, thoughtful and engaging. “I’m not sure you wanna be me right now, Brooke.”

The heaviness behind the statement made her heart sink, but her ex-lover only smiled at her thinly, and reached forward, pulling Mac into her lap.

\-- 

Mac was an awkward walker, but she had absolutely no problem pitching herself forward to roll down the sloping green lawn with the other kids.

Brooke had nearly hyperventilated at the sight, but thankfully a five year old had taken it upon himself to look after the tyke, and as Mac giggled and rolled, he was right there beside her, carefully warding off the other enthusiastic children like a stern older brother.

It left Brooke and Sam free to maintain a watchful distance. Sam had sprawled on the grass carelessly, plucking blades of grass with her slender fingers and pulling them apart. Brooke kept her camera in her hands, snapping shots of her little sister, trying to capture the innocence and courage that only babies had. It was only that mixture that could cause such fearlessness.

“So…” Turning back to Sam, Brooke discovered the other sister prone, one arm slung lazily over her forehead, an attempt to foil the sun. Sammy looked like a vexed vampire. “Why wouldn’t I want to be you?”

Raising her camera, she focused on the other girl through the viewfinder. As one eye opened to squint at her in mild irritation, she snapped a picture.

Brooke took another glance at Baby Mac, and when the baby waved gleefully at her, she waved back, turning her attention back to Sam.

“Oh come on.” Getting on her knees, she adjusted the focus, until she had a gorgeous shot of Sam’s frustrated, fiery expression. “You didn’t think I was going to let that one go, did you?”

Seemingly resigned to be Brooke’s pick as a model, Sam turned into her side, and eyed her carefully, directly staring into the camera.

Brooke shot the frame.

Glancing back towards Mac, Sam’s tone was low, guarded. “Why would you want to? You know what you want, and you’re where you want to be to get it.”

The camera lowered an inch. “And you’re not?”

Grabbing a pair of sunglasses from her pocket, Sam slipped them on, masking her eyes. Brooke thought it was only fair, as she lifted up the camera and shot another frame.

The audible click of the camera forced a barely-there shift of Sam’s head. Dark eyes pierced into her camera, and heart suddenly in her throat, Brooke pressed the shutter button.

It matched the beat of her heart.

“I don’t know,” came the honest answer. “This semester really sucked, Brooke. And I don’t know if it was because of us…” Brooke’s heart hammered a hard thud, “Or the fact that I completely alienated half of my friends on Spring Break and they all took Rebecca’s side, but… I felt really alone, and … you know… Mac is growing up so fast and I’m terrified that she’s not gonna remember me and…”

“It doesn’t feel like home,” Brooke whispered. Dark orbs glittered with sudden intensity, and for the moment, Brooke was overcome.

“Sammeee!” The childish laughter broke into the moment, and as Sam turned, she was suddenly tackled by her baby sister.

The unexpected laughter that came from her depressed love brought a sudden charge into her chest.

Reflectively, Brooke captured the moment, a series of stills that she could only hope would appear cleanly with the sudden movement.

\--

Brooke understood that her and Sam’s alliance was tenuous. While she liked to think they were acting like sisters, the truth of it was that they were acting more like polite acquaintances. Every action that passed between them was careful, too careful, because there was a line drawn in the sand that Brooke was intensely aware, could only too easily be crossed.

She had tasted Sam, she had held her, and she had been inside her.

She and Sam had only been lovers a total of two nights, but the emotion that had coursed through her at the feel of Sam thrusting fingers inside her, the pure overwhelming sense of need that had occurred the first time she had pushed Sam’s legs apart to taste the deepest part of her…

She now understood why some people went mad with passion, and she understood what it meant when all those dumb Harlequin novels went on and on about sensations and fulfillment.

It was because of that, she kept her hands to herself, and she adored Sam through the safety and intimacy of her camera.

She had made Sam a promise, and while Brooke had proven herself frighteningly good at breaking promises, she told herself she wouldn’t break this one.

The only problem was, she didn’t trust herself.

Things were too new. They were too raw. And despite herself and her good intentions, it was hard to forget the complete devastation that had occurred when Sam had broken her heart at her most vulnerable moment.

It was that fear, and the awkward awareness of Dusty in her thoughts that kept her hesitating as they drove back to their house.

It was quiet. Worn out by the day’s activities, Mac had crashed in her seat, heading leaning to the side, plastered against the side of the car seat. In the passenger seat, Sam slunk back in her chair, glasses on, looking the very picture of indifference.

Brooke knew better.

Fingers tightening around the wheel, Brooke questioned the sanity of what she was doing.

“Sam,” she said suddenly. Dark hair and dark glasses turned her way. “You know, USC has a great Journalism program.” Sam continued to stare at her. “Maybe you could consider transferring.”

Sam remained silent, and it was impossible to gauge her reaction.

Breathing unsteadily, Brooke kept her eyes on the road. “You got in before. Why not now?”

Sam’s voice was uncharacteristically weak when she responded, “That might be an idea.”

It was out there, and Brooke couldn’t take it back. She wouldn’t. If Sam was struggling, and wanted to be closer to home, it was an ideal solution.

If Brooke could manage to completely ignore the tension that seemed to mount between them, then it would have been a perfect solution.

As long as there was an understanding.

Sucking in her breath, she trudged on. “There’s a gig tonight. Dusty has this gig. At the Gig.”

The mention of her girlfriend gave her a rather absurd flush of relief and anxiety. She pasted on a bright smile and glanced over to her step-sister. “I’m going to go. I was thinking that maybe you’d like to come with me.”

She was trying. She was. What Sam needed was a friend, and although the pain was still there and Sam still effected her profusely, she wasn’t going to screw this up. Not again.

A slow, odd smile floated on Sam’s face as she kept her eye on the traffic. “Thanks, but I’ve got plans with Harrison.”

She felt a pang of disappointment. Licking the moisture onto her lips, Brooke tried again. “I just think you two could be friends. You both have a lot in common, and…”

What followed was an audible sigh. A beat, and then the glasses came off, and Sam emerged, with brilliant dark eyes and a sad, conflicted smile.

“Brooke, I’m not ready to be her friend,” came the honest, broken answer. “Okay?”

Sam was absolutely breathtaking and absolutely not ready for this.

Sucking in a ragged sigh, Brooke found herself blinking away sudden tears. She kept her eyes on the road, determined not to let Sam see her sudden devastation.

This just completely sucked.

“Okay,” she managed, and when her words seemed to lack conviction, she nodded. “Well, if you change your mind…”

“It’s fine.” Sam crossed her arms against her chest, posture uncharacteristically perfect. “I’m hanging with Harrison.”

Nodding again, feeling absurdly like a bobble head, Brooke find she could think of nothing else to say.

\-- 

It was unfair, she knew, to compare Dusty to Sam, because she told herself there were different kinds of love and the love for Sam was altogether too complicated and had too many permutations. She and Dusty were new, and passion was an obvious factor.

There were long sessions of making out, hot breath and steamy windows. Dusty’s fingertips were rough with calluses, but her lips were soft. Brooke had found an affinity for reaching for Dusty’s nape of hair, so black it shimmered purple, and tangling her fingers in it.

She always closed her eyes, when she kissed Dusty.

She told herself the reason why she wasn’t ready for sex with Dusty was because she was determined to go slow. A one-night stand and a torrid affair with your step sister hardly counted as relationships and the intimacy with both happened so fast. She barely remembered Abby. Sam would stay with her forever.

When she made the decision to move on from Sam, Brooke knew it wouldn’t be the same. Sex with Sam wasn’t sex – it was a violent explosion and a culmination of need. It was looking into a familiar face and knowing every part of it, it was sliding into wet folds and shuddering at the response, the feel of it.

Dusty was new. Dusty was different. Dusty was passionate and fun and incredibly attractive.

It didn’t make her any less terrified to find out how different it would be.

When she came to Dusty’s door, dressed as hot as she could make herself, ready for to play the role of supportive girlfriend groupie for the night, she was feeling particularly nervous and desperate.

Thankfully, her girlfriend had more important things on her mind, like her incredible nerves before each and every performance.

“I’m going to suck tonight,” Dusty said matter-of-factly, the minute she laid eyes on her. “I’m a quarter beat behind the measure and I can’t stick the solo. It’s three fucking minutes long and I can’t stretch my fingers long enough to fit over seven frets in a half second. It’s not going to happen.”

Dusty was a nervous shade of green.

Coming forward, Brooke curled her fingers around the taller woman’s face and placed a gentle kiss on her mouth.

“If you get nervous,” she said simply, “Just look for me. You’ll be fine. You’re always amazing.”

A gleam of desperation in her eyes, Dusty had never looked more vulnerable. Fingers locking around her neck, she pulled Brooke closer to her, locking a forearm around Brooke’s neck and planting her lips against hers.

It was a searching kiss, and despite a brief moment of unexpected panic, Brooke obliged, opening her mouth and feeling a hot tongue slip between her lips. It was pleasurable, it was different, and Brooke shut her eyes in determination, allowed herself to feel.

\--

Elphaba Thropp was one of 7 bands playing tonight, and thanks to being a marginally talented LA group, they weren’t on until third to the last.

“Not quite headliner,” Dusty admitted, as they weaved their way through the eclectic crowd, "But it’s a start, right?”

“Princess.” Johnny, the bass player, always looked at her like he was ready for a sexual harassment suit. “Where’s my girl?”

Johnny and Maria had struck up the oddest relationship Brooke had ever seen. While Johnny was never going to give up his groupies, the open psuedo-monogamy seemed to work on both ends, and thankful that at least Dusty didn’t feel the same way, Brooke was in no real place to judge.

“Hey,” she said, waving politely, unslinging the camera bag from her shoulder. “I think her and Stephanie were gonna stop by later. They’re coming from another party first.”

“Allright, allright. That’s cool.” Tipping his beer at her, he took a swig. “You want one?”

“Dude, what the hell are you doing?” Coming forward, one hand slipping unconsciously on Brooke’s hip, Dusty glared at him. “After the gig. Never before. I’ve already talked to you about that shit.”

“Hey, Nazi. Relax. It’s just one. And I’m not the one who served them out!” Johnny protested. “Caleb did!”

When an accusing eye went to their other guitarist, he just rolled his eyes. “Hey, you’re the one having the problem with the solo,” he snorted. “I’m having no problem keeping the beat.”

Seeing Dusty blanch, Brooke sighed. “Come on, Caleb.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it,” Dusty said, grabbing hold of her hand. “He’s always like this when he drinks. He’ll sober up pretty soon.”

Johnny winked. “Don’t forget. After party tonight. Booze and orgies and groupies.”

Suddenly irritated, Brooke glanced back at Dusty. “You really know how to get a girl going, Johnny.”

\--

“So, what’s up?” Lounging on the bar, in a dimly lit corner away from the stage, where the fourth band was finishing it’s set, Dusty looked desperate to be distracted. “You look a little tense.”

“Oh.” Toying with the cap of her water bottle, Brooke offered her a muted smile. “I spent some time with Sam and Mac today.”

Arching a curious brow, Dusty leaned forward, trying to hear her from above the crowd. “Bonding time?”

“Something like that.” Sighing raggedly, Brooke shot her a glance. “Sam’s having some problems at school and… I brought up the idea of her transferring to SC.”

Dusty took that in, expressionless. “I thought you said you were thinking about going to Italy the second half of sophomore year.”

“Well, yeah, but that has nothing to do with Sam. Annenberg is a great school. I was lucky to get into journalism, but she’s REALLY good, Dusty. They’d want her like crazy. I’m sure she wouldn’t have an issue.”

Dusty absorbed that and a small smile flashed onto her face. “Well, I’m glad you two are getting along.”

\--

Elphaba Thropp got decent applause, and when Dusty stepped onto the stage, there were both a few whoops and an incredibly shrill couple of screams. Her groupies were an attractive set, Brooke would admit that, but there was a small bit of catty satisfaction in knowing that Dusty was looking for her.

When the other girl actively scanned the crowd, she caught her eye and offered a supportive wave. With a tight smile, Dusty slung her guitar over her shoulder, obviously ready to play.

She wasn’t ready for the male hand to sling around her shoulders, jerking her in.

“Hey, can I buy you a drink?”

Brooke let out a small shriek, whirling around and accidentally whipping Harrison in the face with flying blonde strands. “Oww!”

“Oh, God, Harrison! I’m so sorry!”

“Those things are friggin’ deadly machines!” Rubbing at his eyes, he blearily opened one to glare at her.

“I’m sorry! You sneaked up on me!”

“I offered to buy you a drink! Not molest you!”

Fighting her ridiculous smile, Brooke shrugged. “I’m sorry!” she said, trying to look as sincere as she could. “But what are you doing here, Sam told me that you were picking her up-“

“He did.”

Heart jumping into her throat, Brooke whirled and once again nearly blinded Harrison as she found Sam behind her. Wearing a slightly embarrassed smile, her step-sister had never been more gorgeous.

Forgetting to breathe, Brooke found herself overwhelmingly happy. Palms flattened against her jeans, she couldn’t help but stare, overtaken by the subtle beauty in the women presented before her.

This was Sammy. This was Sammy trying.

“You came,” she managed, heart full. She must have looked like an idiot, with the too wide smile on her face and her eyes wide as golf balls, but it didn’t matter.

Nodding self consciously, Sam looked openly uncomfortable. “Yeap,” she said, slightly sheepish. “I’m here. Harrison dragged me.”

“Oh. Harrison!” Whirling again, Brooke’s eyes widened even more when she realized that once again, she had whipped Harrison across the face. “Oh, God!”

“Get away from me!” he mumbled, stumbling back.

\-- 

Still rubbing his eyes, Harrison had taken up a self-pitying stance with Stephanie and Maria, who cooed at him and rubbed his shoulders, attention that Brooke and Sam’s sometimes ex seemed to adore.

Brooke found she had no complaint. It left her alone with Sam, and Brooke found herself utterly absorbed.

“So that’s Dusty the rocker, huh?” Fingers curling around the coke, Sam eyed the stage.

Seated close to her, Brooke found herself having to turn to catch her girlfriend, concentrating hard on the beat, arms and face already glistening with sweat under the harsh light. “Yeah,” she breathed. “She’s good, isn’t she?”

“A little more hardcore than you usually go for,” Sam noted with a grin. “The music, I mean.”

“Oh.” Bringing her shoulders up to shrug, Brooke blushed slightly. “Honestly, I’m not a fan of this stuff, but when she plays classical guitar, it’s pretty amazing.”

“Oh.” Glancing down, Sam’s fingers slid against the condensation of her glass, watching the water pool against her fingertips. “She seems nice though.”

An unexpected jolt of emotion lodged in Brooke’s throat. “Yeah,” she managed roughly. “She is.”

Mouth quirking in a phantom ghost of a smile, Sam nodded.

Hands in her lap, Brooke’s fingers laced together, suddenly nervous. “Was it a mistake to ask you to come?”

Dark eyes met her, on Sam’s face a startled expression.

“I just…” Licking her lips, Brooke tried to voice her thoughts. “When I saw you and Rebecca together… it was hard. And um… I just… I just want to make sure…”

“It’s not easy, Brooke, if that’s what you’re asking.” Sam’s eyes were clear, and her stare was unwavering. It burned through her. “But when I said I wanted us to be friends, to trust each other, I meant it.”

It was Sam at her most sincere, and staring at her, Brooke felt her heart burst into a sudden ache.

She couldn’t stop her hand reaching over, grabbing hold of Sam’s. The touch was soft, and for Sam, unexpected, but as Brooke’s eyes shined at her, Sam’s grip tightened.

\--

“Can I talk to you?”

Blinking, Brooke turned away from Sam, suddenly surprised to see Dusty staring at her.

“Hey!” she said, dragging unsure eyes from the stage back to the bar. “You guys finished fast! You remember Sam-”

“Brooke, I need to talk to you.” Grabbing hold of her wrist, Dusty only glanced at the other girl before yanking on Brooke’s hand impatiently.

Suddenly annoyed, Brooke glanced back at Sam and Harrison. “I’ll be right back.”

Following Dusty, Brooke kept her mouth shut, until Dusty led them into a corner near the backstage. “What the hell are you doing?”

Surprised at the heated question, Brooke found herself completely at a loss. “What are you talking about?”

Dusty looked visibly upset. “You know, Brooke? When you said ‘Look for me’, I thought you meant that shit. I didn’t think it meant ‘Look-For-Me-And-I’ll-Be-Holding-Hands-With-My-Gay-Step-Sister-Who’s-Obviously-In-Love-With-Me’.”

Blinked, Brooke found herself at a loss for words. “Sam? What? No-“

“Oh, God, don’t think I’m fucking stupid, Brooke, okay? I’ve seen how she looks at you.”

The realization of what Dusty had seen, what Brooke should have been doing, and what she DIDN’T do floored her.

“Oh, God…” she whispered, palm raising up to meet her forehead. “Dusty, that wasn’t… I’m sorry, but it wasn’t what it looked like.”

“No?” Her girlfriend wiped furiously at the sweat on her neck. “Which part?”

“I didn’t think Sam was coming! The fact that she did is a huge deal-“

“What about the fact that I was shitting bricks around tonight? About my solo-“

“I know! I know!” Grabbing hold of Dusty’s shoulders, Brooke felt like a complete asshole. “I’m sorry. I am.” Dusty’s head lowered, obviously conflicted. “Dusty, I heard you. You did great.”

“Yeah, no fucking thanks to you,” she sniffled.

Jaw clenching, Brooke forced herself to take a breath. “I’m sorry that I wasn’t there for you.” She swallowed down the sense of panic in her fluttering chest. “The thing with Sam-“

“Oh, Fuck, you know what Brooke? I don’t want to hear it.”

“Dusty-“

“Do you want to be with me?”

Inhaling sharply, Brooke stared at her. “What?”

Dusty was a picture of anger and fear. “Do you want to be with me?” Head lowering, Dusty shivered, like a wet dog. “Just tell me yes or no.”

Heart hammering inside her chest, Brooke ached. She wanted to look, back at Sam, back at the room, anywhere but at the frightened eyes that were staring at her.

She could consider it. She could think this through and think of all the reasons why she shouldn’t have been with Dusty and all the reasons why she couldn’t be with Sam and she could think it over forever and it wouldn’t change anything.

“Yes,” she managed, pushing past her doubts. “Yes, okay? I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

Dusty’s jaw clenched, tightened, and those dark eyes burned into her, as if the tortured artist was trying to see into her soul.

Suddenly her girlfriend deflated. “I hate this,” she heard, as a palm went to Dusty’s forehead. “I hate this. I’m not like this. I’m not a jealous freak. Oh, God, Brooke-“

Stiffly, Brooke felt lost. She hesitated, and then without another word, she stepped forward. Dusty’s arms came around her immediately, pulling her in close.

The body was sweaty, and warm.

“I’m sorry,” Dusty muttered, words muffled against her neck.

“Shhh,” she whispered, and rubbed at the back of her head, tightening her grip. “I’m sorry too,” she whispered, an intimate whisper against Dusty’s ear.

After a long moment, she could feel the other girl begin to relax.

“I’m not used to this,” Dusty managed. “I don’t know how to do this.”

Stiffening, Brooke pulled back, and let her palm drift across a sharply angled cheek.

“So we learn how to do it together.”

\-- 

Locked in a spinning whirlwind of emotion, Brooke found herself incredibly vulnerable, relieved and depressed.

She had been handed a beer, and she had downed it, frustrated with her own weakness and with the reality with which she was presented with.

Dusty was falling for her. Dusty, with her rock star hair and black etched tattoos and tweener groupies, wanted her.

It wasn’t casual anymore.

For some reason, the very idea frightened her to hell.

Pushing through the mass of people gathered around the stage, she searched the crowd with wild eyes, looking furiously for a brunette with dark hair.

When she found her, Sam was leaning against the bar, deeply engaged in conversation with a gorgeous blonde. The other women was leaning into her, with her too wide smile and one foot curling on the floor.

Brooke’s chest tightened immediately into a painful, ugly ache.

She watched, unable to breathe, as the other women only kept getting closer to Sam, until she saw fingers digging into pockets and a pen borrowed from the bartender. On a scrap of paper, the blonde girl etched what could only be her phone number, and with a smile that Brooke hated, she grabbed hold of Sam’s hand, fisting them together. The paper crumpled between their palms.

It was then that Sam saw her, ten feet away, and as she leaned in close to speak to the girl, Brooke felt her pulse quicken and her fists clench.

She swallowed hard, and held her ground.

“Hey.” Sam said, when she had worked her way through the crowd. “I tried to find you-“

“That’s okay,” she said stiffly. “I can tell you kept yourself busy.”

Blinking at her, Sam looked confused. “Brooke-“

Slipping her fingers into her pockets, Brooke pasted on a polite smile. “So, listen. Dusty wants to go to this after party with the guys, and Johnny was our ride so… I’m gonna head out with them…”

Brow furrowing, Sam considered the statement. “Brooke, you sure that’s a good idea?”

Still unreasonably angry, Brooke inhaled sharply. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, after their set, those guys drank A LOT.”

Her heart sank within her, but Brooke refused to register that feeling. “Sam, they had one drink each.”

“Uh… no they didn’t, Brooke! The guy with the dreads took like, three shots in like a minute, okay?”

“I didn’t see that.”

“Well, yeah!” Sam sneered, exasperated. “Because you and Dusty took off back stage forever doing who knows what-”

A terribly, ugly feeling of triumph invaded her before she could stop it. “Oh,” she said, shoulders straightening, suddenly justified. “So this is because of that? Sam, you said you would try.”

Sam blinked at her, mouth agape. “What, you think I’m jealous?”

“Honestly, yeah.”

Sam stared at her. “Brooke, this isn’t about JEALOUSY. The guys were drinking! Just let me and Harrison drop you off or something-“

“No! Okay?” Hands flinging out of her pockets, Brooke stepped back. “Look, I can understand jealousy, okay? But her friends aren’t drunks-“

“I didn’t say that-“

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” Stepping back, Brooke gave her a muted smile. “That blonde girl you were talking to is staring at you.”

“Brooke! Come on!”

Shaking her head, Brooke turned on her heel, determined to walk away from Sam, and toward Dusty.

\--

She wasn’t in the mood for a party. Ears ringing from the loud music, Brooke would in an incurably bad mood. Plastered in the backseat with Dusty, Maria, and Johnny, she felt nearly claustrophobic.

Her girlfriend wasn't faring much better. Dusty was exhausted, and unusually quiet. Completely distracted, Dusty kept her eyes closed, obviously lost in her own thoughts, one hand half heartedly holding her own.

The flash of petty emotion had given her an unmistakable rush, but now her thoughts were consumed with Sam, and as they drove away from the club, Brooke found herself staring back at it.

She had been jealous. She had been jealous and stupid and mean. She hadn’t listened to Sam, and now, she realized she could smell the alcohol on Caleb’s breath.

“Hey, guys?” Moving between the seats, she tapped at the guitar player’s arm. “Maybe we should slow down-“

She was the first to notice when Caleb barely slowed at the stop sign, and she was the first to scream a warning, just before they were plowed into from the side.


	16. Break With the Ones You've Followed

“Well, Ms. McQueen. I don’t think I need to tell you that you’re a very lucky young lady.”

Her head was ringing, and the egg shaped lump on the side of her forehead felt unnatural and strange. She felt dizzy, and nauseous, and intensely irritated. She also most certainly didn’t feel LUCKY.

Cotton-mouthed, Brooke shivered unexpectedly. She managed a polite, stale smile.

“I realize that, Dr. Morgenstern.”

On a normal day Dr. Morgenstern, her primary care doctor, was a pleasantly chubby woman with a self-admitted soft spot for Brooke, which stemmed from avid care of her both during the coma and since she had woken up from it.

Tonight was not normal, and Dr. Morgenstern was acting anything but pleasant.

Lowering her chart, her doctor’s expression was a mixture of disappointment and anger. Brooke found herself shuddering in response.

“Brooke, honestly, what were you thinking? You’ve survived so much. Do you realize how LUCKY you are to come out of the physical trauma of long coma with minor complications?”

She sucked in her breath, and felt like crying. “I know…”

“To be so irresponsible as to get into a car with an intoxicated driver-“

“Dr. Morgenstern, I KNOW!” Brooke snapped, breaking into the monologue. A particularly focused shot of pain flashed to her head, and she winced, head lowering. “I know that it was dumb, and I realize I wasn’t thinking, and yes, I know I’m very lucky to be alive.”

For a moment, her doctor simply stared at her. “You’re also very lucky your Breathalyzer results revealed you to be under the limit. Half of your friends didn’t fair so well.” Depositing her pen into her coat pocket, the good doctor concentrated on her scribbles for a second, before looking up again. “Brooke, you’re a smart girl. Think about the actions you take and the consequences they might have for you. While you were in this hospital, in that coma, you were rarely alone. People love you. Respect that.” With that, the doctor snapped shut her file and smiled as warmly as she could, considering how pissed she seemed to be at Brooke. “Your parents are on their way.”

Immediately, her stomach dropped. Head falling into her hands, Brooke felt the subtle pressure of Dr. Morgenstern’s hands on her shoulder before the slip of the white coat brushed her cheek and her doctor went on her way.

Brooke deflated as soon as the door closed. Trying to process the events of the evening seemed damned impossible, and all that really came with it was the panicked, fluttery feeling that wouldn’t go away. The headlights, the screeching, the tires- it was all so unsettling and she was HERE again, in a damned hospital room.

“It could have been worse,” she wheezed to herself, trying to calm down, as her fingers gripped the sheets. “I’m okay.”

So consumed with trying to stave off the momentary freak-out, Brooke didn’t register the fact that she was no longer alone, not until a hand descended on her shoulder blade. The pressure startled her, forcing her to jump, whirl, heart thrust into her throat.

“It’s me!” Dusty’s eyes were wide, concerned. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you…”

Brooke’s eyes closed, forcing herself to breathe. “God,” she whispered, fingers against her mouth.

“Are you okay?”

She blinked, trying to focus past her raging headache. “I’m fine,” she whispered, throaty and tired. “Just… It’s been a long night.” Exhaling, she straightened up, tried to get a good look at her girlfriend.

Dusty’s features were marred with a bruise on her chin, quickly moving from yellow to purple. Her left arm was plastered in a cast, held to her body in a sling.

“Are you okay?” she managed.

Dusty’s mouth trembled. “Just a fracture,” she managed, and screwed her eyes shut. “At least it’ll heal in time for school again...”

Reaching over, she offered a comforting squeeze on her shoulder, as gently as she could. “You’re going to be fine.”

Mouth a thin line, Dusty tried to smile. It didn’t reach her eyes. “You know, you scared the shit out of me when you said they were taking you in the ambulance too.”

An uncomfortable feeling settled in her stomach. “I was in a coma for a long time, Dusty. There are… concerns…” Dusty’s eyes went to the floor. “But I’m okay. They just wanted to make sure nothing was kicked out of place.”

It was an awkward conversation between strangers, and Brooke selfishly didn’t feel like having it. Inhaling deeply, she endeavored to change the subject. “How is everyone?”

Mouth twitching into a phantom, angry smile, Dusty closed her eyes. “Okay, I guess. Maria got a scratch on her head and her neck hurts, but she’s fine. Fucking Caleb got arrested for a DUI.”

“He deserved it,” Brooke said, meaner than she intended. Dusty stared at her, dark-eyed and vulnerable. “Dusty, we’re lucky no one was KILLED.”

“I know. Fuck, I know…” Fingers buried into a sweaty dark hair. “Fuck, Brooke I’m so sorry-“

“Stop,” she managed, shoving off the bed. “It wasn’t your fault. You were with me. You didn’t know how much he had been drinking.”

“Your dad’s going to hate me,” Dusty breathed, as she rubbed fiercely at her eyes, uncaring of her already smeared mascara.

“No, he’s not. I won’t let him.“

“I let you get into a car- If anything had happened to you-“

“It would have been my fault.”

“How can you say that?”

Miserably, she felt her chest tighten. “Because… Sam told me.” Her eyes closed, full of self-loathing. “She told me she had seen him drinking and I didn’t want to believe she meant it.”

“What do you mean?”

Her head throbbed, and Brooke rubbed at her bump, grimacing at the tenderness. Shaken, she sucked in a ragged breath. There was no energy for lies. Chin rising, she looked at Dusty. “I wanted to believe she was jealous.”

There was a terrible, awkward silence, as she looked into Dusty’s unreadable expression.

The door burst open, interrupting whatever response Dusty had been on the verge of giving.

“Brooke!”

The sight of her father, trailed by Jane and little Mac, brought such a rush of relieved emotion in her she nearly burst into tears. Like a baby, she opened her arms and when her father flew into them, wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him close.

“Honey,” he whispered, out-of-breath and terrified. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she managed, holding onto him as tightly she could. “I’m okay. Daddy, I’m sorry-“

“Well, you should be!” Blinking, Brooke looked through watery eyes at Jane. Her step-mother was bouncing Mac on her hip, looking nearly hysterical. “Brooke, what on earth were you thinking!”

“I didn’t… I didn’t-“

“It was my fault,” Dusty managed, and Brooke remembered she was there, looking small and frail, her big cast plastered against her chest. Her voice was huskier than Brooke had ever heard it. “The guy who was driving was my band mate, and I should have checked with him-“

Already, she could feel her father stiffen in her arms, rigid, righteous anger. “Dad, no. It wasn’t Dusty’s fault. She had no idea-“

“Do your bandmates drink on a regular basis?” Mike’s voice was flat, sharp.

“Dad!” Straightening, she grabbed her father’s shirt. “No. This isn’t her fault.” Sucking in her breath, she turned to her girlfriend, knuckles white as she grabbed hold of the bedpost with her good hand. “Dusty, maybe you should wait outside.”

A small twitch of anguished bitterness slipped across her lips, and without another word, Dusty just shook her head, pivoting on her heel.

“Brooke, what were you thinking?!” Jane exploded, as soon as the other girl was gone. “Do you understand what could have happened to you?”

“YES!” Brooke snapped, unnerved. “I do, Jane!”

“I had reservations about that girl,” Mike said, hands on his hips. “From the first day.”

“Dusty wasn’t the problem!” Brooke snapped. “She didn’t know how drunk Caleb was!”

“And you did?” Jane came forward, one hand palming the side of her face, inspecting the bruise even as she glared at her, obviously disappointed. “Sam told me she tried to warn you, Brooke.”

“Sam what?”

“Don’t worry,” Jane said, handing the baby to Mike to better tilt Brooke’s head. “She didn’t squeal, if that’s what you’re thinking. She was nearly hysterical when we called her to tell her you were in the hospital. I had to drag it out of her.”

Brooke’s heart stopped cold. “Where is she?”

“Outside,” Mike said, fingers on the bridge of his nose, in an obvious struggle to maintain control of his emotions. “I tell you, Brooke, I can’t believe you could get into a car WILLINGLY-“

“I know,” Brooke said, suddenly focused on the door. “I know, Dad, and you can punish me for it, but I’m SORRY. I know it was dumb and I know it was idiotic and you’re right, someone could have been seriously hurt-“

“Fine!” Mike’s arms flew up, palms in the air, face red from emotion. “Brooke, you get it. You understand it. It doesn’t change the fact that your mother and I both were frightened out of our wits when we got the call. You were VERY lucky. Understand that.”

Brooke felt her eyes close in regret. “I’m sorry,” she managed again. Her head was throbbing. She felt idiotic and depressed and oddly alone. Straightening, she reached for Little Mac, running her palm along the small back. “Why didn’t Sam come in?”

Mike looked frustrated, unable to get past the torrent of emotions that erupted at the idea of his little girl in trouble. “She didn’t want to, Brooke. Okay?”

It wasn’t okay. The very idea caused such a level of hurt in her she actually gasped.

And then she heard her. Loud. Biting. Drifting in from outside her door. Angry words that forced her to turn, walk as quickly as she could to reach the hallway.

“-COULDN’T EVEN SMELL THE BREATH ON THAT GUY!?”

Chest tightening, Brooke felt her throat close up as she began to comprehend what she was seeing.

Sam, eyes wild with what had to be rage, didn’t seem to care that there were nurses glaring at her, and large men in scrubs were headed her way. Her step-sister only saw one target, and that was Dusty.

A large lump of emotion welled up into her throat, and with it, came sudden panic.

Without thinking, Brooke moved fast, pushing out of her hospital room door toward the fighting pair.

Dusty, it appeared, had run out of patience.

“If you knew so God-damned much, why the hell didn’t you try to stop her?!”

Brooke didn’t wait to register Sam’s reaction. Without a word, she reached forward and grabbed Sam’s wrist, jerking her into her side. She didn’t speak, she didn’t even look at Sam, she simply began to move.

“Brooke!”

Fingers tightening around Sam’s wrist, Brooke continued to move, jerking Sam around the corner roughly, away from Dusty, away from their parents, away from the sick, dark smell of intensive care.

“Brooke, STOP!” With a vicious tug, Sam broke free of her grip. Whirling, Brooke took in the angry girl, as she rubbed at her wrists, eyes moist and completely overwhelmed with emotion.

“What were you doing?” Brooke asked, as quietly as she could, despite the intense raging in her heart. “This is a hospital, Sam!”

“Oh, God,” Sam breathed, head falling back to raise eyes toward the ceiling. “Great. You lecture ME, Brooke. That’s not at all hypocritical.”

A shudder of emotion went up her spine, and Brooke, in the midst of a white corridor, felt the walls closing in on her.

“Okay,” she managed, eyes shutting tight. “I deserved that.”

“You deserve a lot fucking WORSE, Brooke!” The words exploded from Sam, and Brooke opened her eyes, unable to speak. “What the hell is wrong with you!? Why didn’t you listen to me!”

She swallowed, palms pressed against her thighs, overtaken.

“You could have died,” Sam enunciated, coming forward. “Do you understand that? You COULD HAVE DIED.”

It was then she realized that Sam was openly crying. Shoulders shaking, her beloved brunette looked completely defeated. Eyes shining with surrendered emotion, Sam’s head was shaking, furious and frightened and it was all directed at her.

Her mouth opened and yet she could find no words. Her feet were firmly planted on the ground and they seemed glued there.

“FUCK, Brooke. I can’t do this…” Sam’s sleeve wiped desperate at her eyes, voice clogged and broken. “I can’t keep coming here …”

Oh, God. Sammy was scared.

Brooke didn’t remember the accident. She remembered lights bearing down on her and she remembered the screams. She remembered waking up months later and being told every ugly thing that had happened to her body.

Sam had seen it happen.

“Sam.” Her voice was thick, pleading. “Sam, I’m okay-“

“No,” Sam stepped away, away from her when Brooke tried to reach for her. “Don’t touch me-“

“I’m sorry.” Her eyes were stinging and her heart was broken, but she had to touch Sam. She moved - so fast - fingers grabbing hold of strong shoulders, trembling underneath her touch.

Shuddering, Sam jerked away. “Fucking leave me alone-“

“No,” Brooke snapped, fueled by emotion. “I’m not leaving you-“ Arms wrapping around Sammy, she brought the struggling body against her. “I’m not leaving you, Sam.”

“God DAMN you, Brooke!” But the head fell and suddenly limbs were wrapping around her shoulders and a wet face was buried into her neck.

“I’m sorry,” Brooke repeated, an eternal mantra. “I’m so sorry.” A thin body plastered against hers, and Brooke’s heart beat into her throat, but her hold only tightened. Cheek brushing against silky hair, Brooke's eyes stung with moisture and she couldn’t help herself from threading fingers through Sam’s scalp, rubbing rhythmically.

Sam shivered, tangled in her arms.

“I love you.” Brooke heard the words, and her heart stopped, nearly choking her, as Sam’s head lifted away from her collarbone, and brown eyes seared into her soul. “I love you, Brooke. I don’t know what I would ever do if I lost you.”

With a ragged sigh, Brooke couldn’t help but spread her palm against Sam’s soft, wet cheek. She brushed at the tears as lovingly as she could, but she couldn’t speak. There were no words.

When Sam kissed her, Brooke’s mouth opened immediately, brushing against soft lips with such tenderness, it was almost sacred.

Lips clung to hers so sweetly, salty with tears. Pressed together intimately, Brooke pulled back just enough to stare into a brown eyes liquid with emotion. Thumb tracing the jawline of her beloved, Brooke didn’t let her go.

Movement caught her eye, and it was then she discovered Dusty, turning the corner, stopping just short of them both.

She stiffened just slightly, a terrible sinking feeling in her stomach, as her eyes met Dusty’s. She knew what it looked like, standing so close to Sam, palms spread against her cheek so intimately.

It looked exactly like what it was.

And still, she only exhaled, offered no explanation, as she watched Dusty’s face close, expression fade away.

Heel twisting on the linoleum, Dusty walked away from her.

“Brooke?”

Questioning brown eyes and a voice tainted with tears changed her focus, and she rediscovered her beautiful Sammy.

Bewildered, Sam glanced back to stare at an empty hallway.

With a sad smile, Brooke’s thumb traced full lips, and once again followed a strong jawbone, to curl around the nape of Sam’s neck.

\--

“Do you ever think that maybe you have it all figured out and then the rug gets pulled out from under you, and you feel like a complete idiot?”

Maria wasn’t a chain smoker. Whenever she did pull out the pack, it was because she was deeply stressed. The habit was picked up thanks to long hours on sets which she PA’d during her summers.

Leaning against the wall outside the ER, she looked truly shaken. There were no eccentricities, just an exhausted frown and the focused motion of bringing the cigarette to her lips and sucking in the lungful of smoke.

Brooke stayed downwind, in an over sized Medic’s jacket, staring at the flashing light of the ambulance that stood in the loading dock.

“All the time,” she said, shaking her head no when Maria offered her a drag.

Her close embrace with Sam had been interrupted when Mike and Jane had turned the corner, and Brooke, awkward all over again, was forced to release Sam in favor of another lecture from her father on drinking do’s and don’t's.

Sam had since disappeared with Mac, and while Jane and Mike went over her release papers, Brooke had been forced to wait outside. She considered it a stay-of-execution.

Arching an eyebrow, Maria rubbed at her neck, wincing. “You know, I knew they were drinking. I had a couple shots with them. I thought we were okay.”

Her friend sounded listless, lost in her own thoughts. Shivering in her coat, Brooke didn’t respond.

“God, it’s just all so stupid, right? Half the time I don’t even LIKE Johnny. The sex was amazing and he’s in a rock band and what the hell does it matter now? We could have killed someone, Brooke.”

“I know.”

Tilting her fingers, Maria dropped ashes on the curb, and smiled morbidly. “It’s just stupid. Like smoking outside of a fucking hospital. It’s dumb.”

“Yeah, it is.”

“God, I’m so bummed I’m not sure I even want to go to Stephanie’s beach party tomorrow. Are you going?”

“I don’t know. I think I’m probably grounded.”

“Right. Your dad looked really pissed.”

“Yeah,” she said and then continued matter-of-factly, “I think Dusty and I just broke up.”

Visibly thrown, Maria sat down beside her. “It wasn’t her fault, Brooke-“

“I know.” Brooke rubbed at her forehead, wincing as she felt the bump under her fingertips. “It’s not that. I just don’t think I’m ready to be with anyone right now.”

“Is it ‘cause you’re frigid?”

She closed her eyes, and smiled bitterly. “I wish.”

\-- 

It came as no surprise when Brooke was unable to sleep.

She was tired, she was sore, her headache hadn’t completely gone away, and the drugs she had been given made her thirsty and hot.

She was also in a supreme state of self loathing.

With the drive home came a certain sense of disaffected relief. Sam was in the car, but they were separated by a car seat, and the other girl had been completely silent.

Not that it seemed to matter to her father or Jane. They seemed perfectly content to yell at her the entire ride home. Brooke had yet to be punished, but she suspected that the only reason was because they had been so busy screaming, they forgot.

There had come with the events of the evening a certain state of understanding.

She knew that somewhere in the middle of all of this, Dusty had fallen for her and Brooke had also summarily broken her heart.

She also understood that the coma was a completely traumatic event, not just for her, but for Sam. If anything, it was quite possibly more traumatic for Sam, and still affected her deeply.

She understood that her action of getting into the car with the drunk driver was a severe lapse of judgment that had been spurred by jealousy. Not trusting Sam at that moment was probably one of the most unforgivable things she had ever done.

It was a mistake that could have cost her her life.

Why was it that whenever she felt she was growing, moving on, she only fell further?

“Because you’re avoiding the truth,” she told herself, speaking out loud, into the darkness of her room.

The truth was that she loved Sam. There was no getting around it. No getting over it. It would continue to surface until she stopped being a coward and dealt with it, because Sam wasn’t going anywhere.

Brooke owed it to her to do it single, uninhibited, and without judgment.

The sweet kiss that Sam had given to her in the heat of an intensely intimate moment still tingled on her lips and, breathing unsteadily, Brooke couldn’t help but relive it.

When the bathroom light clicked on at 3AM, Brooke swallowed in anticipation. Her pulse began to quicken, and afraid and exhilarated, she waited for that inevitable knock, for Sam’s soft voice to ask permission to enter.

Instead she only heard movements, opening and closing of drawers, and then she heard the door open and close again. The line of light underneath her door faded away immediately.

She was on her feet in an instant, padding barefoot to the bathroom door, opening it and entering quickly.

Sam’s light was on.

Feet cold on the linoleum, she tried to hear above the pounding of blood in her ears, as she knocked on Sam’s door.

There was a brief, tortuous pause, and then she heard Sam’s voice, telling her to come in.

Feeling awkward, she grasped the doorknob and twisted, pulling and discovering Sam wide awake, an open luggage bag on her bed.

The sight caused a sudden surge of fear. “What are you doing?”

Glancing up, Sam looked apologetic and fragile.

“Hey.” Her dark brown hair fell into her face, and she brushed it back; slow, methodical. “I… uh… I’m going back to Northwestern. Tomorrow.”

The information was impossible to process, and Brooke couldn’t let it sink in. She sucked in a painful breath, arms crossing each other defensively. “What?”

“I didn’t go to that party last night to play nice, Brooke.” Sam’s eyes were on the luggage, and her voice was clogged with emotion. “I… I wanted to see if you really liked her. I wanted to see if there was a chance I could fight for you. Break you guys up.”

She hissed, an inhalation of deep air when she felt suddenly lightheaded.

“Sam…”

“I was jealous.” Sad brown eyes rose to meet her own, scorching her. “And I hate that it was true. It wasn’t the reason I told you about Caleb. That was sincere. But you looked so proud and… happy that I was trying to move on…” She paused and suddenly began to wipe at her eyes, straightening against her emotion. “I’m not a quitter, Brooke. But it’s not fair. Not to you and not to me. I know I’m hurting you guys. I know that the reason you didn’t believe me was because you thought I was jealous and it almost got you killed.”

“Sammy, that was MY fault,” Brooke broke in, suddenly deeply afraid. “Not yours-“

“Yeah, okay,” Sam said, like she didn’t believe her. “But you were getting over me, right? I mean… You said you wanted to, and you had found Dusty and then I come back and I ruin everything-“

“No, Sam.” Her voice was hard, emotional, almost desperate. “You didn’t ruin anything. I wasn’t… I wasn’t ready for Dusty. Okay? I’m not over you, Sam.”

“But you want to be, right?”

Brooke blinked, lost.

“Look, Brooke.” Sam’s hand covered her mouth, as she struggled with her words. “I don’t want you to love me because you can’t stop doing it. Okay? That’s… That’s where all this comes from, you know? All this… Anger and resentment and this inability to make anything work…”

She swallowed “I wanted you, Sammy.”

“And I wanted nothing to do with you. I know. I know, Brooke.” Sam’s eyes closed, as if she was having a mental war with herself. “But how much of that was because you wanted me or because you couldn’t NOT want me?” Brooke swallowed hard. “You’re the one who told me to go back to Rebecca, remember? You said this wasn’t going to work out unless we both gave in, but where does that put us?” Sam struggled with her luggage. “You asked me to let you go. And I couldn’t do it. But if I love you, I have to. I have to let you go and I have to be away from you because if not I’m not going to stop wanting you.”

She got angry. She couldn't help it. "Bull shit, Sam," she breathed, stepping back from her. "This isn't about me. This is about you. You're scared. You've always been scared."

Wide eyes stared at her.

"Yes, we have a problem," Brooke whispered fiercely. "But you leaving isn't going to solve anything. It's just going to make it worse. I'm not going to stop loving you just because you go AWAY, Sam. If it were that easy, it wouldn't be this hard. You love me." The words were accusing, hurt.

Sam looked up. “Yeah,” she admitted. “I’m not gonna stop, Brooke."

"Then don't LEAVE," Brooke snapped, coming forward. "Don't go! Just stay here and stop being afraid and help me learn HOW to love you without hurting you."

Sam was unusually quiet. She wasn't angry, like Brooke. She was resigned. Locked away in some part of her that was unfazed by Brooke's anger.

She had made up her mind to do this. "You said I saved your life, remember?”

Of course she remembered. She meant every word.

“Well… Not trusting me almost got you killed, and I’m not going to let that happen again.” Frozen, unable to believe this was happening, Brooke stood still as Sam came forward. Brown eyes were shining brilliantly with tears, and Brooke didn’t realize she was also crying until soft fingers came to her and began to wipe them gently away. “I love you, Brooke. I’ll love you forever.”

When Sam kissed her, it was different than the desperately tender kiss she had been given at the hospital. Stained with tears, delicate and chaste, this one spoke of good-bye.

“Sam, no,” she managed, but Sam easily captured her struggling arms, bringing them back to her.

“I need you to let me finish packing,” she whispered.

Just like that, Sam was leaving her. Again. Breaking her heart. Again.

Brooke decided she had enough.

"Fine," she managed, ignoring her hot, angry tears. "Fine. Go. Love me and leave me and good riddance, Sam. You are SO full of shit, you know that? All this ... BULLSHIT may sound prettier than telling me that loving me made you a bad person, but you know what it is? It's an excuse. Just like everything else. And I'm done with excuses."

"Brooke, don't make this harder-"

"I'm not. I just made it easier. Good luck." With that, she turned, and walked away from her.


	17. She'll Admit to Everything

In her anger, Brooke decided she had had enough with crying.

Wordlessly wiping the tears from her face, Brooke shut off her lights, and locked her door. She grabbed hold of her iPod from her drawer beside the table and settled back on the bed, determined to drown herself in music.

It almost worked. The angry music was so loud she was sure that she had burst an eardrum during a particularly ear-splitting solo, but it was what she needed.

She didn't want to consider Sam, packing less than twenty feet away, full of fear and apologies and pessimistic fatalistic thoughts.

She wanted to believe that if Sam came knocking on her door, full of whispers and apologies, she could tell her to go away, because she was THAT angry and Sam was right, she wanted to be over her. She wanted to forget her, forget this extreme of heaven and hell she had endured since the moment Sam had stepped into her life.

Her head ached and her heart pounded and there was a suffocating knot of tension buried in her stomach like a snake coiled inside of her.

And still... The music ended and the light in the bathroom clicked off and left in darkness, a sleepless Brooke's eyes opened.

It was quiet, and silent, and in that moment, Brooke understood just what it was she was beginning to face.

It had been six months, six months since she had lain on this bed in this exact same position, making ten thousand promises to herself and keeping exactly none of them.

Everything since then, every action since even the moment she had gotten up from the table in the fancy restaurant at junior prom had been an attempt to regain control of her own runaway emotions.

Loving Sam had never felt like a choice she had consciously made. It had been worked up inside her, until it flared and burst into a flame and Brooke had tried to quench it - and then control it - and it was all to no avail.

She understood what it was to fear.

Brooke had never been able to control Sam. She understood her, more than she wanted to at times, but she had never been able to reason with her. Everything she said, everything she did, always touched some sort of hot button, evoking the worst possible reaction, that only heightened in the aftermath of their intimacy.

_"I'm not over you, Sam."_

_"But you want to be, right?"_

Exhausted, she closed her eyes, unnerved and haunted.

\--

She left the house early, too early to hear any arguments or punishments. Her head still ached, and her back was now sore, but she shouldered her bag and she stepped into her car with only a wince.

Sticking the keys in the ignition, Brooke paused a moment, swiveled her head and looked up at a window.

An intense shot of pain knifed it's way into her chest, and with a choked breath, Brooke fumbled for her keys, jerking. The car roared to life, and Brooke was ashamed as she breathed a sigh of relief, pulling away.

It would be a long drive to campus, but at least she had a destination in mind.

\--

True to form, Brooke threw herself into her work. Checking into the photography lab this early had thrown the student yawning at the front desk, but she secured use of the lab without having to wait.

She had neglected her work lately, and if Brooke was going to move on, this time for good, she needed to work.

Pulling the pack down from her shoulders, Brooke immediately began to sort the rolls of film that had been gathering in the small compartment. Two for school projects, one for the paper, one of Dusty's band...

With nimble fingers she began to inspect the cardboard boxes, each etched clearly with the date and subject, because Brooke was organized in everything but matters of the heart.

With a deep, methodical breath, she began to set them up.

She was still new at color, but the paper preferred black and white anyway. It would do to at least develop those, get them done.

She had spent long hours in a dark room the weeks after spring break. It became her cave, and in a way Brooke was almost glad of it. Learning the intricacies involved in mixing powders and choosing developer fluid and controlling the exact measure of light required focus and discipline, and in her photos Brooke found a safer way of viewing the world.

She worked quickly, moving from the developer to the stop bath, working the film until she had three rolls drying above her, weighted by butterfly clips.

That was the time she hated the most.

She stayed in the darkroom, sinking down in a chair and closing her eyes.

She didn't know what time it was; she refused to look at her phone.

When it rang, she turned it off.

Anxious, Brooke began to fiddle with her camera, fiddling with the buttons until she realized there was still a roll locked inside of it, one frame away from complete rotation.

The Getty.

Brooke knew better than to think it was morbid curiosity that forced her to reach up, turned the camera on herself, and snap the frame.

With nimble fingers, she opened the casing and extracted the film.

Her fingers were trembling, but she was careful.

It was infinitely precious.

\--  
 _  
_

_Hi, you've reached Brooke's voicemail. I'm either in class or in a dark room or screening, so leave me a message and I'll give you a call at my earliest convenience."_   


_"Brooke, it's Stephanie. Are you okay? I can't believe that guy was drunk! That's just so crazy! You're still coming tonight, right? Because Maria told me you and Dusty broke up and I'm sorry but you HAVE to tell me the whole story. Like. NOW. Or if not? Tonight. I hope you don't mind. I invited Harrison. He's cute."_   


_Hi, you've reached Brooke's voicemail. I'm either in class or in a dark room or screening, so leave me a message and I'll give you a call at my earliest convenience."  
_

 

_Brooke, honestly? I know we haven't actually provided an actual punishment for last night... but there are still things we need to discuss! Leaving a message saying you're going to be in a dark room all day is not good enough! You're sister's leaving for Northwestern tonight. Did you know anything about this? Come home soon, Brooke.  
_

_  
_

 

_Hi, you've reached Brooke's voicemail. I'm either in class or in a dark room or screening, so leave me a message and I'll give you a call at my earliest convenience."  
  
_

_Hey. It's Dusty. I think we need to talk. Call me.  
_

\--

In a dark room, there was quiet. No sound but the swishing of fluid, the acrid scent of chemicals, and stained fingers soaking sheets. Colored eyes watched intensely as pictures emerged from a blank canvas.

The back of a child, with chubby legs and chubby feat and short dark hair, staring over the sloping plain of a garden, preparing herself for the courage to roll down it full force.

The profile of a rock star dripping with sweat, mouth open and eyes brilliantly clear, guitar hanging from straps on her arms as she stood on a stage. For the moment overwhelmed, exhausted, and sated.

A brunette, with dark glasses and dark lips, lying back on grey grass, looking into the camera in a perfect, unknowing pose.

Brooke lifted the wet picture from the fluid, and stared into it.

Her chest began to swell and Brooke sucked in her breath, suddenly overcome.

In the tray, forming a picture of quiet devastation and resolve, was a blonde woman in a dark room. Alone. Tired. And scared.

\--

Finding a parking spot in Hollywood Hills had always been hard, but Brooke found a yellow loading area that was free.

She wouldn't be staying long.

Unloading from the car, Brooke grabbed hold of the packet of prints and removed her sunglasses.

The quiet experience in the dark room had left her numb and still.

She moved up the stairs and when her shoulder contracted - a sudden muscle spasm - she ignored it.

Rapping on the door with her knuckles, Brooke bit her lip and waited until Dusty appeared in a wife beater and a tight pair of jeans. Her girlfriend's expression was tight and guarded as she stared at her from the other side of the screen door.

"Hi," Brooke managed, voice suddenly tight.

Dusty seemed at war with herself, and then without a word she flipped the latch and with a creak, the screen door opened.

Brooke thought Dusty was generous, given the circumstances.

"Thanks," she managed, and gingerly stepped into Dusty's apartment, not nearly as freely as she had the evening before.

Dusty's hand crossed over her injured arm, and she shifted on her feet nervously, glancing away from her.

"How's your shoulder?" Brooke asked, when the silence became nearly unbearable.

Still averting her eyes, Dusty managed a dry smile. "Great," she answered, and then her head rose. "Just fucking peachy, Brooke."

Brooke expected anger. "I'm sorry."

Dusty swallowed, eyes blinking, suddenly moist. "That day, I saw you in the quad. And you were crying." Brooke's throat closed up, her heart froze in her chest. "You were crying over Sam, weren’t you?"

Uncomfortable, Brooke took a deep breath. She owed her the truth, at the least. "Yes," she said, firmly, carefully. "I ... Sam and I just ... Yes," she finally just answered. "I was crying over Sam."

Dusty's mouth closed, a firm line, and she rubbed at her injured arm like it was a tick. "Do you love her?"

She swallowed hard. "Yes."

"And Sam loves you."

Her sigh was ragged. "Apparently."

"But you're not together."

Her smile was sad. "It's complicated."

"So complicated you decided to try and fuck me instead?"

The sentence was a like a punch into her stomach. It actually hurt. "It wasn't like that."

Dusty nodded mechanically. "I guess I had it coming. I mean, I knew I was something."

"Dusty-"

"But you don't exactly run into gay step-sisters in love all the time, you know?"

"Dusty-"

"I cheated on you."

The words were said breathless, panicked, and Brooke blinked, thrown by the sentence.

Dusty sank down on the couch, lost. "Last night. One of those fucking groupies came to the hospital and I had just seen you with her and..."

"And you brought her home," Brooke said, frame stiff, voice surprisingly clear.

"... Yeah."

Brooke didn't want to know who it was. She felt the pain, and for the moment, she was grateful for it. It proved she had felt something for Dusty, in the midst of all this.

It hadn't all been about using her to get past Sam.

"Okay," Brooke said, nodding and drawing in a deep breath. "I brought you these." Packet in hand, she reached forward, holding them out to her ex-girlfriend.

Uncertain, Dusty just stared at her. "You're not even going to get mad?"

"I'm not over Sam, Dusty. And I know it's not fair to you to try and be with you, even if I can't be with her. I need to learn how to deal with it instead of trying to figure out how to move on. And if that's the case, then I don't deserve to get mad." Her mouth trembled. "But if you wanted to hurt me, you did."

Settling down on her couch, Dusty reached for the guitar strewn haphazardly beside her, and twanged carelessly on it. "It helps a little."

Dusty was a beautiful girl, with shaggy hair and a great smile. But she wasn't Sam.

Reaching forward, she took the pictures from Brooke's fingers, and fumbling a bit, managed to open the envelope. Prints spilled out, 8 x 10s of rockstars and clubs and Elphaba Thropp.

Dusty looked at them silently, dark eyes taking in each and every shot, before wordlessly moving to the next.

"These are really good," she told Brooke quietly.

"Thank you," Brooke responded, and they stood awkwardly in Dusty's living room, strangers once again. "For what it's worth... I didn't know... I mean, it wasn't because of..."

"Yeah it was," Dusty interrupted, staring up at her. "And if you're going to say you didn't want to hurt me, it's a little late for that."

And there it was. The end of it.

"Okay," she said to Dusty and turned away.

"Hey, Brooke."

Pausing, Brooke glanced back, to find Dusty wavering. "I wasn't in love with you yet."

Unsure where this was going, Brooke kept quiet.

"If you need a friend. In a couple months, I could probably be that."

At that moment, Brooke really wished she could have loved Dusty.

"Thank you," she said unsteadily, grateful. "I'll take you up on that."

\--

"Sam's flight is leaving in two hours," Jane told her, the minute she stepped into the house. "Do you have anything to do with this?"

Brooke stared silently at her step-mother, in the midst of feeding baby Mac mashed up bananas. From her toddler's chair, Mac shot her happy banana filled smile.

"Probably," Brooke admitted, pulling a packet of pictures out of her pack, dropping the rest of her stuff on a nearby kitchen chair. "But I'm going to fix it."

Jane eyed her carefully, quietly. "What's going on, Brooke?"

She paused, and looked back at her step-mother. "What do you think is going on, Jane?"

Jane's eyes were dark. Her expression was guarded. She looked nearly afraid.

Brooke was finally centered and nervous and yet somehow no longer afraid to face her own truths.

It didn't mean Jane was there with her.

Shoulders dropping, Brooke came forward and without another word, pressed a kiss to Jane's temple. "I can't make her stay," she whispered. "But I can promise you that I love her, and I will make sure she knows that."

Straightening, she didn't wait for Jane's reaction as she pressed another kiss to Mac's forehead and then headed for the stairs.

\--

She found Sammy in her bedroom, seated at her desk, hands folded on top of her desk, staring at Lil' Bleu Too.

Breathless, Brooke paused in the doorway. For the moment, she drank in the sight.

This was her Sammy. Beautiful. Stubborn. And sometimes, when she thought no one was looking, quiet, sentimental, vulnerable.

The figure in her bed stirred, turned, and dark eyes locked on hers.

"I'm sorry," Sam said, a beat later, suddenly scrambling to her feet. "I didn't know you were home-"

"Don't apologize to me," Brooke interrupted quietly. Closing the door behind her, Brooke couldn't help her staring, mapping the dark hair and the dark eyes, beautifully intoxicating.

And poor Sammy didn't know what to say to that. She was scared and unsure and certain she was doing this for the good of Brooke, and it was idiotic, but it was what Sammy needed to do.

"I’m not going to be here when you leave," she announced, as firmly as she could. Sam's eyes went to the floor. "Because I don't think I'd be strong enough not to ask you to stay."

In the searching, startled glance that Sam gave her, Brooke found her strength.

"I'm not sure," she began, "If you ever really understood why I walked away from you, when I woke up from my coma."

Brown orbs flitted downward, to the carpet, then back up.

"I've said so many things to you in my head that I forget I haven't actually said them out loud." Brooke wrapped arms around herself. "I just kinda... expect you to step into my shoes and understand and..."

"Brooke..."

"It's okay, Sammy. I hurt you. I get that." Brooke's emotion began to bleed into her words, and it caused her to choke up. She paused, head shaking, trying to reorient herself.

"I hurt you too."

"Yes," she agreed. "You did. Many times. But you also made me very happy, Sammy. I don't think you... I always had problems in high school, Sam. I always tried so hard to make everyone else happy because I thought that if I did that, I would make myself happy." Sam kept quiet, but she heard her inhale deeply. "And for a long time, I deluded myself into thinking that I had succeeded, and then I crashed into you in a hallway and my heart did this..." With the package in her palm, she pressed against her chest. "Sam, the first time you smiled at me, when you really LOOKED at me, and SAW me and you smiled... I had never felt anything like that. Ever."

Sam was frozen. Her expressive mouth quivered, opened, then closed. Unnerved by her own naked honestly, Brooke was almost grateful for her uncharacteristic muteness.

"Maybe I fell in with love with you because you made me love myself. Or maybe because you loved me, I could finally love myself. I don't know. All I know is that as miserable as I like to say you made me, nothing ever made me happier than when I was with you." Sucking in her breath, Brooke tried to continue. "On prom night, with Harrison... I sat at that table and I realized that I was in love with you. And it scared the hell out of me. So I ran. And I ran from you and into Nicole's car."

Sam's fingers twitched, they pressed against her hips, as if Sam had nowhere else to put them.

"Brooke..." Sam began unsteadily. "You don't have to-"

"I do," Brooke replied softly, and kept her distance. Mouth curving up slightly, she sighed raggedly. "Because I owe it to you. Because I wrote you a letter that told you all of this and I was too scared to send it, and now you're leaving me again and I won't be able to live with myself if I don't tell you all the things I've never said. Because I can now."

She came forward, as close as she dared without touching Sam. "Here's the thing, Sammy. I love you. Not because I have to, or because I have no other choice, but because I just love you. Even when I can't stand you I can't help but ache to be with you, and when I hurt you all I want to do is take you in my arms and never hurt you again."

She smiled.

"Maybe, we got lucky, or we got cursed. I met the love of my life at sixteen and I wasn't ready, Sam. There was so much else clouding everything and I couldn't see it and when I did I couldn't handle it. I wasn't supposed to feel this way so soon. You meet the person you're supposed to be with when you're older. When you're past all the petty stuff and not when you don't even realize you're gay or when your parents decide to get married... The things you make me feel scared me so much Sam, but what I'm more afraid of it not feeling that way ever again. And I know I won't if I'm not with you."

Sam looked breathless, and it wasn't Brooke's intention.

Biting her lip, Brooke forced her arms across her chest, pressing the paper envelope against her.

"I know everyone always says that your first love you get over, but I'll never get over you, and I don't want to. I want to make you happy. I wanna know how to do it and I know I can because I'm so good at making you miserable, that if I worked at it, I could make you so happy. I want us to have a chance and I want us to be with each other for the rest of our lives. But I can wait, because that's how long we have. We have the rest of our lives and I’m going to love you for that long. I'm going to get this right. I'm going to be with you. But when you're ready. Just know, when you go, I'll be waiting for you. I'll be working on me. And when you decide to come back to me, I'm not ever letting you go."

It was pure, utter resolve, and it sounded so much braver than Brooke felt, but it was finally said. Out in the open. Out loud, and Brooke was unashamed.

Sam looked terrified. "Brooke," she managed, thick and broken. "I can't-"

Tears slid down perfect checks and Brooke reached forward, tenderly as she could, to gather the drops against her thumb.

"You don't have to. I have something for you." Her tone was soft and reverent, and she pressed the envelope of pictures into Sam's arms. "Look at them, Sammy, and look at how beautiful you are. Maybe, if you see yourself the way I see you, you can understand how beautiful I think you are."

Her thumb drifted against soft skin, and as her heart pounded, she forced her hand to drop, step away.

"Have a good flight," she managed, suddenly choked, and before she lost her resolve, she stepped out of her room.

\--

Stephanie's beach party hosted a myriad of drunk frat boys and half naked sorority girls. Gorgeous, beautiful people drunk on cheap liquor, drunk on life.

The music was loud. The screams were shrill and ear-splitting.

Dressed in a bikini with a pair of cut-offs, Brooke could feel lingering glances. The token gay girl in an attractive sorority, Brooke understood her uniqueness. Like Sam, months ago, in this environment, she invited curiosity.

This time, when she stepped into the cool air, kicking off her sandals to step into the sand, trudging toward the waves, Brooke didn't have Sam's hand to hold on to.

The waves crashed into the shore, and on them Brooke focused. She wasn't sure why it was so important not to break down. Not to cry.

A spry of sand against her shorts alerted her to a warm face and a friendly smile.

Without a word, Harrison settled down beside her, depositing a bottle into her hand.

"Thanks," she managed, rubbing ruefully at her shoulder as she kept her gaze on the ocean. "I think I'm done with drinking for a while."

"It's lemonade," he corrected. "Steph says Maria brought them."

Brooke glanced down, staring at the label. "Somehow I'm not surprised," she answered, but smiled gratefully, lifting the bottle to her lips.

Harrison waited a moment, watching the rise and fall of the blue water, the frothy foam coming ever close to nipping at their toes.

"So..." As Harrison began, Brooke could only smile bitterly. "Where's Sammy?"

She swallowed, ignoring the lurch of pain inside her. "Probably on her way back to Northwestern."

"Right..." She heard an audible sigh. "I guess I'm just surprised that it came to that."

Her eyes screwed shut, fingers tightening around her bottle. "I ran from Sam for a year, Harrison. I guess I owe it to her to let her run for a while too."

"Because you're sure she'll come back."

"No," she responded. "I'm not. But I've said everything I could say. She's still going. I can't stop that."

Harrison nodded mechanically. "You never could stop Sammy when she put her mind to something."

Brooke dug her lemonade bottle into the sand. "You know, at Stephanie's last party, Sam got a little drunk. It was the night I first found out that she had wanted me. I was so scared, Harrison." She shook her head, still.

And then the tears came. So fast they took her by surprise. They were streaming down her cheeks before she even knew they were there, and Brooke began to sob, crumpling into a sodden mess against Harrison's shoulder.

Her friend drew her close, and desperate for comfort Brooke wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her nose into his collar.

"Oh, God, Harrison," she choked. "I wanted to do this. I wanted to let her go but -"

"Let who go?"

Tears caught in her throat, Brooke jerked away from Harrison's embrace to discover Maria and Stephanie staring down at her, wide-eyed and worried.

"Oh, God," she whispered, wiping furiously at her stinging eyes.

"Oh, my God, Brookie!" Plopping down beside her, Brooke found herself suddenly pressed against Stephanie's cleavage, the other girl nearly squeezing the blood out of her brain. "It's Dusty isn't it? That rocker chick broke your heart!"

"No," she managed, struggling against her friend's surprisingly strength. "Stephanie, you're choking me..."

"Umm..." Harrison sounded concerned. "Might want to ease up..."

"Do you want us to kick her ass? I mean, granted her groupies might get us first-"

"It's not Dusty!" Brooke snapped, jerking away. "It's Sam."

Stephanie looked dumbstruck. "Sam?" she repeated. "Your gay sister? You're hot for your sister?"

"No," Maria said, non-plussed as she took a drag off her cigarette. "They're step-sisters," she corrected. "And they didn't even grow up together. It's totally not incest. What?" she questioned, when everyone stared. "I listen!"

"You're hot for Sam? Cute Gay Sam? Oh, my GOD!" Reaching around Brooke, Stephanie smacked Harrison on the shoulder. "How could you not tell me?"

"Umm... Oww?" He responded, scuttling back. "Abuse is not an okay part of this relationship!"

"Oh, God, it makes so much sense now! You're not frigid at all! You're hot for your gay-step-sister!" Stephanie paused. "Somehow that doesn't come off as better."

Brooke closed her eyes, overwhelmed. "It doesn't matter," she sighed, wiping at her drying tears. "Sam's on a plane back to Northwestern, scared out of her mind, running away from me again and I'm stuck on this beach, hopeless, in love and... frigid, apparently," she added, when Stephanie blushed.

Reaching forward, Harrison grabbed hold of a handful of sand. "And you think it's fine. Letting her go."

"It's what she asked for, Harrison."

"Brookie, can I just say something?" Shifting, Brooke blinked, as Maria crouched down in front of her. "You're an idiot."

"Excuse me?"

"Look, I know I’m incredibly self-involved and a little bit of a tease, but I am your roommate, and that means I see things, ya know? Also, I read your emails."

"What?!"

"There's this movie I saw called 'The Harvey Girls'. We're supposed to do the musical in school next year so I was doing research. And in it Judy Garland is this waitress, right? And she comes to this really seedy western town where this really hot guy runs the local saloon and whorehouse-"

"Why are we getting a movie review?"

"Shut up, Harrison," Maria said sweetly. "Anyway, she's like this waitress and is all up for making the town respectable and he's like, all for you know, his whores and all. Anyway, they're hot for each other but they can't be together because they both can't be together without comprising themselves, right?"

"Uh... Ebert? Does this have a point?"

"YES!" Maria screeched. "Let me finish. God. Anyway, the guy decides to pack up and leave and Judy decides to go after him. Well, it turns out he decided the same thing so they end up both giving in, you know?"

"I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about."

Maria's eyes rolled heavenwards. "GO AFTER HER, YOU MORON. GIVE her a reason to believe in you besides your pretty pretty words and ten thousand broken promises."

For a brief moment, all Brooke could do was stare open-mouthed.

"Amazingly? That last part actually made sense." Harrison noted.

Brooke couldn't breathe.

The blood began to rush into her ears, and her heartbeat suddenly began to pound erratically. "Go after her?" she repeated. "To Northwestern?"

"Well..." Stephanie mused. "That IS a helluva gesture."

"Oh, God," Brooke breathed, suddenly hyperventilating. "She's really going, isn't she? I’m really going to - I have to go after her."

"Yes, you do," Harrison agreed.

"I have to go after her and if I have to bang on her dorm door and make her believe me- I can't- I have to go-"

"Oh this is so exciting!"

"Shut up!" Brooke said, scrambling to her feet. "I need to get to the airport."

"Brooke, wait up-"

"I can't! I need to get a flight!" Already, Brooke was stumbling in the sand, sprinting toward the beach house. "Stephanie, I'm stealing your clothes!"

She needed jeans.

She was pretty sure it was freezing in Northwestern.


	18. She'll Say She's Just Not The Same

 

“Ladies and Gentlemen, in just a few minutes, we will begin our descent into Chicago-O’Hare airport. It’s approximately 5:33 AM Central time. We’d like to thank you for flying with us here at American Airlines, and hope you’ve enjoyed your trip.”

Her face was hot, but her fingers were ice cold. Brooke, who rarely touched her face for fear of clogging her pores with oils and microscopic dirt, found a happy medium as she pressed her palms against her cheeks, feeling the chill cool her seared skin.

The passenger beside her in the wrinkled business suit stirred briefly, eyes flickering open blearily before burying his head against the tiny blue pillow they had been given and burrowing as much as he could underneath the blue blanket.

He snored.

Brooke found herself slightly amused that she was so bothered by it.

Still, thanks to her freshman psych and being locked into a tiny coach seat for hours on end, she understood her reaction. It was late. She was twitchy. She had argued with cab drivers and ticket agents and Stephanie, when the other girl paled at the sight of Brooke shrugging on her puffy jacket filled with goose feathers. An hour of running through the airport with a dead cell phone battery and a credit card stretched to it’s limit had left her with a burst of adrenaline that intensified every emotion.

Brooke was obsessive to a fault. She knew that.

At this moment, every impulse was honed in on getting to Sam.

She was desperate, and scared, and… exhilarated.

A stewardess leaned across her, gently poking the man beside her and forcing his chair upright.

“Flight attendants, please prepare for descent.”

Her chest tightened, her breath constricted, and head falling back against the cushion, Brooke willed herself not to imagine the scenario that awaited her. Sitting in a darkened plane with nothing but business travelers who stared at her oddly and nervous flight attendants who kept asking her if she was okay, gave her mind full permission to run wild, and Brooke was driving herself crazy.

She imagined showing up on some phantom doorstep, shivering and scared and full of apologies, and then watching, helpless as Sam slammed the door in her face. Too little. Too late.

The plane jerked into it’s descent, and Brooke’s insides plummeted with it.

“Are you afraid of flying?”

The man beside her now had his eyes open, blinking blearily. It was then that Brooke realized her fingers were digging into the armrests on either side of her, knuckles white with exertion.

“There’s nothing to be afraid of,” he told her, grimacing, as he straightened out, long legs pushing out as well as they could in the cramped area.

“Thanks." Suddenly self conscious, Brooke drew her hands into her lap. “I’m not afraid of flying.”

He arched an eyebrow in disbelief. “Well, you’re incredibly flushed and twitchy. You’re afraid of something. I’m a psychologist,” he added, registering her perplexed confusion. “Forgive me. I can’t turn it off.” He looked almost embarrassed about it.

For some reason, that made her feel better.

Letting out a shallow breath, Brooke flashed a quick reassuring smile. “No… I … it’s okay. I’m just… anxious.”

“Not about flying.”

“No, not about flying.” Keeping quiet, he waited, hands crossed, for an explanation. “I nearly died a couple years ago. In a car accident. I was in a coma for a really long time.”

If he was surprised, he had the decency not to mention it. “That’s rough.”

“Well, yeah,” she breathed. The plane jerked, as the wheels hit the runway, and Brooke’s heart lodged suddenly into her throat, making her choke a little. She gulped, trying to squeak her way around it. “I realized after that I had spent I spent my whole life being afraid.”

“Afraid of what?”

“My mother left when I was really young. I blamed myself. I thought if I had been perfect she wouldn’t have left so I tried to be. Perfect.”

“You have to know you’re a very attractive young lady.”

She grimaced at the very idea.

“Thank you,” she said, managing not to be sarcastic at the sincere comment. “But I didn’t think so. I thought I looked fat.” His eyes widened, and Brooke’s mouth twitched knowingly.

“You had an eating disorder.”

“Yeah. And I was the most popular girl in school and I was gay and didn’t know it. So I was ashamed of that.” She was rambling, she knew that. All of this emotion had built up inside of her, and like a flooded damn, she was spilling over.

But he asked. Sort of.

He crossed his arms. “I see.”

“Also, I’m in love with my step-sister.”

She supposed that was the moment she tripped him. His carefully closed expression suddenly broke open, eyes widening into surprise. His mouth opened, then closed, and finally his shoulders just dropped. “I see.”

“She loves me too. But our parents don’t know and we have a sister and it’s NOT incestuous but it seems that way and well, up until a couple years ago we hated each other. So it’s a switch and between the coma and the eating disorder and the being afraid of everything I think I’ve hurt her so much that she’s run away. Back to school. To Northwestern. I mean, I was so scared that now I made HER scared. The thing is, I don’t want to be scared anymore. So now I have to convince her… Not to be afraid. And I’m the most frightened person on earth.” She stopped, and cast him an uneasy glance. “Is this insane?”

He studied her carefully. “You’re on a red-eye flight to Chicago to go tell your step-sister you love her.”

She nodded mutely.

“I can see why you’d be anxious,” he conceded, wiping methodically at his glasses. “But… I’m sorry…” he gestured at her with chubby fingers.

“Oh.” She flushed. “Brooke. McQueen.”

He smiled gently. “Dr. Morgenstern.” He extended his hand for a polite shake. “I think that this is insanely courageous for a girl who has spent her life being afraid.”

It was then she realized they had not only come to a full and complete stop at their gate, but seatbelt sign had been turned off with a cheerful ding, and still the flight attendants and the passengers in her cabin were not moving.

They were all staring at her. Brooke’s throat closed in on her, forcing her to nearly choke.

Dr. Morgenstern rose, and gave her a smile. “I teach at Northwestern and have a car waiting for me. You wouldn’t happen to be going in that direction?”

\--

In retrospect, Brooke understood that it wasn’t the SMARTEST idea to get into a cab with a strange guy she had just met on an airplane. But the card he had given her looked pretty official and the sleepy snappy dressed guy standing at the terminal gate holding the sign with his name printed on it seemed legit.

Brooke had told herself she had to stop being afraid.

And still… Standing outside on the curb, waiting as the driver put Dr. Morgenstern’s luggage in the trunk, it occurred to her that she had absolutely no idea where Sam even LIVED.

“What’s the name of your sister?” he asked, as the driver opened the door.

She hesitated, suddenly nervous, shifting her weight on her feet. “Sam. McPherson.”

His eyes darkened a bit thoughtfully. “I see. Coming?”

“Stop being afraid, Brooke,” she heard, in her head, almost as if Sam was standing right beside her. “Not STUPID.”

“Shut up,” she whispered to the ghost. “I’m coming to get you, Sammy. Whether you like it or not.”

Casting the man a smile, she ducked into the waiting car.

\--

Stephanie’s designer goose down jacket was a little puffier than Brooke normally liked, but at least when she shivered in the backseat next to Dr. Morgenstern, it wasn’t from cold.

Dr. Morgenstern yawned, trying to blink at the sleep from his eyes as he carefully tapped at the keyboard. “Wireless is sketchy,” he explained, but appeared to concentrate.

Brooke tried to contain her impatience. She knew it was rude to stare, as the good doctor tried to bring up the school directory, and he had been so insanely NICE already.

“Can I ask why you’re helping me?”

He frowned at his monitor, and peered closer at it. “Because the idea of a young woman wandering the streets of Chicago trying to get to Northwestern to surprise her step-sister when she has no idea where she lives is unappealing.” He shot her a glance from behind his glasses. “I’m not a big believer in fate, Ms. Brooke, but I am a believer in being in the right place at the right time. There was a reason my flight was delayed two hours and you happened to have your seat right beside mine, in an otherwise nearly empty cabin.”

Biting her lower lip, Brooke huddled further into her coat, and glanced outside the window at the ever changing scenery of the strange city, growing ever brighter with the breaking of morning.

“You think this is karma, or something?”

Out of the corner of her eyes, she noticed he smiled thinly. “I think that there has been many things leading you to this moment, and before today, you simply weren’t ready. Now, you are.”

“And the universe wants to make sure I have that chance?” It sounded oddly romantic, coming from the older professor.

“The universe?” he repeated, and actually thought about that. “Maybe that’s a little broad. Every journey has a beginning, a middle and an end. On that road there are no accidents, simply occurrences. How they shape you decides what path you take. However long it takes you to get there, you do reach your destination. You choose where you end up. In this case, you ended up in Chicago. You begin one journey and you end it, only to start another. Something tells me you’re nearing the end of a journey.”

Her mouth opened, then closed. “Oh,” she managed, tangling her hands together, before turning to face him again, suddenly weirded out. “Just so you know, it would really suck if you turned out to be a serial killer. I mean, I appreciate all this talk about journeys and all, but I would really hate to have it end like… killed or stranded or something instead of… you know… with Sam.”

Dr. Morgenstern went oddly still, and in his shock, the laptop nearly tumbled from his fingertips.

“Sorry,” she said.

“No,” he said, recovering, sighing as he slumped in his chair. “I get that a lot.” Shaking his head morosely. “It’s the glasses, right? No. The hair.”

“You don’t have serial killer hair. More the creepy journey talk,” Brooke noted carefully, more relieved than she cared to admit. “I would recommend a good leave-in conditioner.”

\--

At 7:15AM, Brooke found herself staring up at one of Northwestern’s more popular residence halls. As the sun rose, the chill of the morning began to dissipate. Brooke shrugged off Stephanie’s jacket, feeling suddenly sweaty.

She didn’t have much money. Stephanie and Maria, rich beyond belief, had handed her a wad of bills but Brooke told herself she wouldn’t use them, and her credit card limit had enough left on it for a cab ride and that was about it. At some point she would have to call her parents and give them a bigger explanation than the hurried one she left on their answering machine. And she would probably be grounded for eternity.

She was alone and out of her element, and none of it seemed to matter. This was where Sam lived.

Maybe it was nerves or exhaustion but Brooke felt so fragile, like she was made of spun glass, as she drank in the sight.

Allison Hall had a sprawling lawn and on this early summer morning there were only a couple students up; early risers, slinging backpacks and riding bikes.

It wasn't hard to imagine Sam lounging against a gnarled tree, dark brown hair falling into her face as she crossed her Ked shod feet, a bright grin flashing across her face when a fellow student engaged her in some sort of scholarly conversation.

She never asked Sam why she had decided on Northwestern of all places. She knew it had something to do with their journalism program, but at the time Brooke had been too consumed with forgetting herself to delve much deeper into Sam’s decision.

She remembered a sharp flash of devastation that night when Sam discussed the decision openly with her parents, at one of those fairly quiet and awkward dinners. She remembered covering it up perfectly with a polite smile and a nod.

Now, it devastated Brooke again because she didn’t know why Sam had decided on here of all places, but she had the suspicion that in at least some small part it had to do with getting away from her.

And now, a year later, she was in a part of Sam's world that she didn't know, and couldn't understand. She didn't know what went on here, what experiences shaped Sam's ideals, her focus.

It had been her choice, her actions, she knew that.

Was she sitting out here on this lawn when she told Brooke that loving her made her a bad person?

There was a painful knot permanently lodged in her throat, and as much as she tried to swallow it away, it remained, a reminder of her fear.

"God, Brooke," she admonished herself, shaking her head angrily, bouncing up and down lightly, forcing the blood back into her legs before beginning to trudge across the lawn.

“Sam,” she whispered under her breath, trying to gain her strength. “I know you’re surprised to see me, but I couldn’t let you go, and I know it’s a little bit stalker of me, but you came after me once and I wasn’t ready and this crazy old guy said something about a journey…”

No. Nothing like that. Sam would stare at her with her big brown eyes and lush full mouth and pronounce her insane, call her parents, and have her committed.

She slowed when she reached the door to the residence hall. Bundling the ski jacket tighter, she hugged it with both arms as she inspected the electronic lock that guarded the front entrance.

"Key cards," she muttered. "Of course." On campus security here was apparently no different from USC.

Brooke always worked best when she had a plan. She knew how to approach things rationally and with control. The moments when she did not have control forced her to do very stupid and morally unethical things: like cheating on a chest, like breaking up Carmen and Josh, like sleeping with Abby and pushing Sam away-

What was it about Sam that pushed rationality and control completely out of her head?

Her heart beat quickened, pounding in her chest, and Brooke battled against her rising adrenaline.

She didn't know what room Sam was in. She didn't even know what floor. Hell, the only thing she DID know was this was her summer housing assignment, and that was because the scary but well-intentioned Professor that looked like a serial killer had looked it up for her.

"I could so easily freak out right now," she breathed.

What was her plan, really? To somehow con her way inside and knock on every door until she found Sam or got arrested?

Her hands balled into fists around the ski jacket. Well… If it got the job done…

Brooke stayed in front of the door, peering inside in hopes of finding anyone who could open the door for her, ask them if they had seen a gorgeous brunette with dark brown eyes and an insanely lush mouth.

Behind her, someone coughed. “Excuse me.”

Startled, Brooke whirled, immediately stepping aside. "Sorry, I didn’t…” The sentence died in her throat when she got a good look at the girl waiting to go in. Her hair was messy. Her jeans were tight and slung low on her hips, and the way she slouched she looked like some sort of androgynous Calvin Klein model.

The girl stepped by her, keycard in hand. Aviator glasses masked most of her face, but the features were instantly recognizable. The name burst from her lips like a bullet. "Christelle?"

Christelle, Sam's Casanova companion, immediately whirled, thin lips parting. Clearly struggling to place her, Christelle's brow furrowed, pulling her large sunglasses lower on the bridge of her nose to get a better look.

Dark eyes met crystal.

"It's Brooke," she added, words nearly running together in her excitement, smiling nervously for her benefit. "Sam's ..."

"Oh... shit..." Christelle breathed, looking relieved of all things. Pushing her lenses back into place, she fell back against the entrance. "I thought for a second that you were this girl I had... Brooke?!" The glasses were once again yanked off. "What the hell are you doing here?!"

Ah, yes. That.

Fingers squishing the jacket in her arms almost obsessively, Brooke opted for what she hoped for was a friendly, innocent smile. Considering her heart was doing a gymnastic floor routine inside her chest, it may have not been very successful.

"I'm looking for Sam.”

Christelle was clearly not a morning person. She had dark circles under her eyes and looked extremely hung over. Visibly struggling to understand, she blinked at her. "But... Sam's not here."

"No, I know," Brooke said, glancing away self-consciously. "She came in last night on a plane."

Christelle scratched furiously at her ear, trying to make sense of this. "No... I mean... wait... Why are you here?" Christelle fumbled for her cellphone, digging into her pocket like she was suddenly hopped on speed.

"Umm... I honestly would rather talk to Sam about that.” Sucking in a lungful of air, she tried to stand her ground. She could understand Sam’s friends trying to protect her, but this wasn’t the time for intimidation. Brooke didn’t have room for it. "If you can just tell me where she is-"

"No... Brooke..." Dark eyes flickered up and down, darting back and forth from Brooke to her phone. Her smile pulled into a tense frown. "You don't get it. Sam ISN'T HERE."

"I know!” she snapped, losing patience. “She was coming in last night-"

"No, Brooke. You REALLY don't get it. She called me. I was supposed to pick her up. Last night she left me a message. She never got on the plane. Sam's not here."

Brooke heard the words. They didn’t compute. She stared dumbly, as she literally felt the sentence work it’s way into her mind, take shape, sink into a focused realization.

And she nearly died.

"What?!" she managed, a hysterical squeak.

"She didn't get on the plane!" Christelle repeated, eyes rounder than before. Her fingers closed over her phone like she was clutching into a safety net. "And now you're here and she's in LA-"

"OH FUCK!" Sam didn't get on the plane. Sam was in Los Angeles, and Brooke had just flown halfway across the country to a cold, stupid FRIGID STATE and Sam was thousands of miles away-

"Oh, God," Christelle said, "Don't start crying, okay?"

"I'm not crying!" But she was, she realized, when her fingers went automatically to her stinging eyes, and they came away wet. "I just... I just can't believe I came all the way out here to tell her that... that... Oh, God-DAMMIT, SAM!"

Fingers wrapped around her forearm and suddenly Brooke was yanked back into a skinny body. "Okay, now you're waking people up," Christelle snapped. Holding her against her, trying to keep her quiet, Christelle dialed as quickly as she could with her free hand.

"What are you doing?" Brooke wheezed. "I need to... I need to get a cab-"

"What you need to do is calm the fuck down."

"I am calm-"

"I'm talking to myself," Christelle interrupted, phone to her ear, eyes rolling up to the back of her head. "It's ringing - OH thank God. It's me. I'm coming over. I don't CARE if it's not even fucking eight in the morning, we're coming over!"

Shivering, Sam's friend stuffed the phone back into her tight jeans and without a word began to drag her away from the building.

\--

"Hey, it's Sammy. I'm not answering, so leave a message, or whatever. See ya."

Of course the phone went straight to voicemail.

After all, if the day was going to keep up the trend of having EVERYTHING go wrong, this would have been the way to do it.

Eyes fluttering closed in frustrated apathy, Brooke McQueen lowered the borrowed cell phone and pulled her knees into her chest.

She felt small and alone. Her insides were quivering with nerves, and she felt utterly nauseous, unable to properly breathe.

Her decision to go after Sam had been romantic and desperate. She had told herself to give herself no expectations, but a simple resolution: fight for Sam. Whatever that meant.

And still, she had never expected to end up like this, on the floor of Rebecca and Abby’s apartment. Sam’s ex-girlfriend Rebecca sat beside Brooke’s one-night stand Abby, with longer hair. Standing nervously was Christelle, who had taken to biting her cuticles. All of them stared at her like she was some sort of orphan they didn't know what to do with.

Abby, unsure what to do, reached forward and awkwardly patted Brooke on the shoulder. She was too shocked to be completely callous. In fact, the girl seemed to be knocked completely speechless.

"What do we do?" Christelle asked, fingers in her teeth, looking twitchy and nervous.

She let out a breath of impatient irritation. “You don’t need to do anything,” she managed. “I just need to call a cab, because I need to get to an airport…”

“And you already said you don’t have enough money left for a flight.” Abby’s brow arched. “So what, are we just supposed to drop you off and leave you to beg for cash?”

Brooke’s throat was dry. She swallowed, trying to bring moisture back into her mouth. “I don’t know,” she managed. “I’ll figure out something.”

Abby’s mouth quirked into a bitter smile. “You know I’d give you the money if you just asked.”

Eyes locking with her former lover, Brooke’s teeth scraped against her bottom lip in contemplation. “Somehow I don’t know if that’s entirely fair to you, Abby. Besides, my friends in LA did give me some money. I told myself I wouldn't use it, but...”

Rebecca, with her perfectly cascading mane of red hair, dressed in a perfectly adorable frumpy boxers and a too large t-shirt that slipped seductively and innocently off one shoulder, had kept quiet, until now.

"You hopped on a plane... to follow Sam here?" she repeated, like she couldn't quite believe it.

Brooke didn't understand how she could be so threatened by the girl when Sam wasn't even in the room to ogle her.

Sam was in Los Angeles.

And Brooke was stuck in hell.

"Yes," she answered, as steadily as she was capable. "Sam was leaving because of me. Because she... she thought ... she was leaving... and I didn't want her to go."

Rebecca's green eyes glittered with an unreadable emotion.

"Fuck," Christelle’s head shook, features masked by her stringy black hair. "This is some seriously twisted Sleepless in Seattle bullshit."

"How the hell did you even find Christelle?" Abby asked, rising to her knees, running her fingers through her long hair to tie the darker strands into a ponytail, pulling them from her face.

Brooke raised her fingers, and deliberately pushed her hair behind her ears. "I got a ride from a professor I met on my plane. Um... Dr. Morgenstern."

"Creepy Morgenstern?" Christelle’s expression was dubious.

"He's a nice guy," Brooke said tacitly, oddly affronted on his behalf, which was not exactly fair, since she had accused him of being a serial killer an hour before.

Oh, God. Had it already been an hour?

"You guys... I really... really need a cab.” It was strange that her voice was so calm and firm when she could have panicked so easily. Still, Brooke had a plan and a focus.

Sam was in Los Angeles, and Brooke needed to go home.

It was that simple.

Rebecca's brow came together, and her former rival formed a suddenly steely expression. "Are you really worth it, Brooke?"

Brooke had never thought she was.

"Sam thinks I’m worth it," she managed gruffly.

"Then why was she running thousands of miles away from you?"

"Because it's not EASY," Brooke snapped, voice clear. "Because we're too different and we're too the same. Because you're not supposed to meet the love of your life at sixteen and you're not supposed to be step-sisters and you're sure as hell not supposed to start off hating each other." Her eyes shut, for the moment suddenly overwhelmed. Taking in a deep breath, she opened them again, faced them all. "Because what we have is so intense it's SCARY and I'm tired of being scared. I'm worth it because Sam thinks I'm worth it. I know she does. And I'm not going to stop fighting for her until I prove to her we can do this. Because I know we can. Because it's EASY to love her."

It was a sincere speech, said out of anger and honesty, but the effect it had on Rebecca was peculiar.

From the beautiful girl, came a small, tentative smile. "Yeah it is," she agreed. Those green eyes lingered on her own, and suddenly snapped away. "Get your keys," she snapped to Abby, slapping her on the shoulder.

"What? Why?"

"Because we need to get to the airport, that's why," Rebecca told her sharply. "Brooke has to go home."

Abby hesitated, as she jerked her head from Brooke to Rebecca, then back again. Grudgingly, she rose to her feet. "I swear, I will never understand what you two see in her."

Dizzily, Brooke closed her eyes. She wasn't aware she had stopped breathing until she sucked in a lungful of air.

\--

She missed Sam. 

Brooke had spent so long repressing her feelings for her step-sister that now, even though she wanted so badly to embrace them, she felt herself trying hard to ignore the ache inside of her. 

But she recognized it. The tightening in her chest that made it harder to breathe, the feeling of anxiety that made her constantly shift in her chair… the flash of phantom senses: a sweep of soft fingers against her forearm, fingers threaded through her own, the smell of Sam when Brooke buried her face into the crook of her neck… 

She missed Sam. 

It was recognizable. Tangible. 

Brooke felt a sudden sting of moisture in her eyes, and she fought it, sucking in her breath as she shifted on the hard plastic of the uncomfortable airport chair. 

“What’s wrong?” 

To be seated next to Rebecca, Sam’s only other lover, was surreal. Brooke glanced up, took in the green eyes and the concerned, polite stare. 

She understood why Sam had fallen for her. 

She hated that feeling. 

“I’m sorry,” she said finally. 

It was quite possibly the last thing Rebecca had expected her to say. The other girl’s eyes narrowed for a moment, before she glanced away, shifting in her own chair and focusing on her coffee cup. “Why?” she said, her voice gravely with hidden emotion. “You didn’t fuck Sam when we were together, were you?” 

It was a depressing, bad joke. 

“No,” Brooke began, sucking in a fragile breath. “But I did go to your Spring Break-“ 

“Because Sam invited you.“ 

“And I slept with your best friend-“ 

“Because Abby wanted you.” 

“I didn’t mean to break you two up.” 

Jade orbs glanced up, locking with her own in an intense stare. “You didn’t.” Rebecca’s mouth tightened. “Sam was the one that freaked out at Spring Break. Not you. And yes, maybe sleeping with Abby wasn’t the smartest thing to do, but I’ve done it too.” 

Brooke exhaled unsteadily. 

“You and I seem to have a lot in common,” Rebecca finished, a thin smile floating on her face at the irony. 

Brooke slouched on the chair, head falling into her hands. “God… I don’t… I don’t even know how I got here.” She closed her eyes, tried to process her whirling thoughts, before sucking in a loud breath and straightened, turning to stare once more into Sam’s ex-girlfriend’s face. “You had a part of Sam I’ll never touch, Rebecca. You have to know that. Despite everything, you were her first-“ 

“Jealous?” Rebecca eyed her suspiciously. 

“Yes,” she answered honestly. “But that isn’t why I’m saying it.” 

The other girl took that in, and suddenly laughed, a tired chuckle, before turning her attention back to her coffee. “I didn’t, though.” When Brooke’s eyes narrowed, Rebecca’s brow arched in retaliation. “Come on, Brooke. I didn’t know about you when we first got together, but it didn’t take long to put two and two together.” Rebecca hesitated, before beginning again. “I wanted to believe it was more than it was. I put a lot of pressure on Sam to have the type of relationship I thought she and I should have, because she was perfect. Except for her temper.” 

Brooke’s mouth twitched in sudden commiseration. 

“We were never friends, though,” she continued. “At least not until after. She came to me, one night after Spring Break, and she wanted sex.” Brooke swallowed, her pulse bursting into her eardrums, as her mind played with the time line. After she and Sam had slept together. Rebecca noted her tightened features with a slight grin. “Yeah,” she responded, her voice rough. “She wanted sex from me because she was drunk and she was hurting, and she told me that she would be everything I wanted her to be if I could just make her forget.” 

Unable to breathe, Brooke kept absolutely still. 

“And that was when I realized what I was to her. I was a prop. A tool to make her forget you. She never loved me. She used me to try and get over you, and she was more in love with you than ever before and she knew that I would take her back. In a heartbeat.” 

Brooke didn’t know how much more she could hear. Her tears were once again clouding her vision, and she didn’t bother to wipe them when a couple trickled down her cheek. 

“And you know what the worst thing was?” Rebecca asked, looking defeated. “I was gonna do it. I was gonna let her to do it me because that was how badly I wanted to be with her. Because deep down I knew it all along. I knew she loved you. I knew she was using me. I didn’t care. And it was Sam that stopped it. Drunk Sam who pulled away and started sobbing in my bed because she wanted you and couldn’t be with you.” 

“God,” Brooke breathed, so relieved she nearly hated herself for it, unable to mask the expression when Rebecca glanced at her. “I’m sorry,” she managed, using Stephanie’s sleeve to wipe her nose. “I just…” 

“Don’t apologize,” Rebecca snapped, voice flat. “I’m just telling you… I was never her first.” 

Brooke’s eyes lifted, connected with hers. 

Rebecca’s mouth pulled down. “Please don’t feel sorry for me,” she breathed, raising the coffee cup to her lips. “I’m over her. Sam and I are… friends, I guess. But do me a favor. If you get her, hold on to her. You’ve ruined her for everyone else and I don’t have the heart to go through that again.” 

Brooke had that statement before: from Harrison. It resonated inside of her. “I’ll get her,” she said, voice soft and thick. “And I’m never letting her go.” 

Glancing at her, Rebecca looked almost relieved at the thought.

Her phone rang, cutting off the intense moment, and with an apologetic glance, Rebecca answered it. 

Almost immediately, the girl stiffened. “Wait, what?!” Shooting her a hard look, Rebecca swallowed. “Yes. I mean… what are you- I don’t under-“ Clamping her jaw, Rebecca once again looked at her oddly. “Okay…, dammit, hold on!” Rising immediately, she offered Brooke a semi-apologetic smile. “I have to get this,” she said hurriedly and then walked away. 

Left sitting by herself, Brooke felt dismissed. 

Wiping her palms at her jeans, she let out an insecure breath, trying once again to steady the nervous nauseous feeling in the pit of her stomach. 

Christelle, now slurping on a soda, ambled her way back toward her, slumping into the seat beside her, offering her a muted smile before pulling out the Gameboy she had halphazardly stuck into her back pocket. 

“Howzit going?” she asked, in that monotone, flat voice. 

“Um… okay?”

The entire row of locked together plastic chairs moved when Abby flopped into Rebecca’s vacated seat. 

Eyes covered by dark designer sunglasses, she was expressionless. Without a word, Abby dug into her McDonald’s bag and held out a McMuffin. 

Brooke’s stomach turned at the thought. 

“I can’t eat right now,” she breathed, nose wrinkling at the pungent smell. “But thanks.” 

“When’s the last time you ate something?” Abby asked sharply. The firm tone, the narrowed eyes, told Brooke Abby was worried. 

Swallowing down her nausea, she rolled her eyes, grabbing the packaged breakfast sandwich. 

“You don’t have to take care of me,” she mumbled, unwrapping it. 

“Are you kidding?” Christelle didn’t look up from her video game. “Sam would kick our collective asses if you didn’t.” 

Abby only shuffled in her seat, sighing dramatically. “Screw Sam,” she announced. “Where’s Rebecca?” 

“On the phone,” Brooke answered, motioning down the corridor, where she could dimly see Rebecca waving emphatically, obviously distressed. 

Abby arched a brow from behind her glasses. “She looks pissed.” 

Brooke took a ginger bite of her sandwich. It tasted like sand. She grimaced, ignoring her churning stomach and forcing the bite down. 

Beside her, Christelle continued to play with her Gameboy. 

Abby leaned her head back against the seat and sighed. “Nice to see you two didn’t kill each other.” 

There was a large lump in Brooke’s throat that made speaking difficult. Her eyes went to the flight board, noting the time with a pulsing heartbeat. 

She couldn’t wait anymore. 

Unsteadily, Brooke balled what was left of her sandwich, and rose to her feet, gathering the jacket to her as she watched the board nervously. “I should go.” 

Christelle, digging her palm into her jeans, glanced up from her Gameboy, looking only slightly more alert than before. “Still got a half hour to go, Brooke.” 

“I know,” she breathed. “But it’s something to do…I can’t just sit around. It’s driving me insane.” 

Mouth pressing into a thin line, Abby looked up at her. “I still don’t get it.” 

Brooke hesitated, fingers tightening against the puffy jacket. “I know,” she answered. “But thank you for being here just the same.”

Abby stared at her. Her mouth quirked impishly. “So, lover. One for the road?” 

Despite herself, Brooke couldn’t help but grin. Leaning down, she pressed a gentle kiss to the corner of Abby’s mouth. “Thanks. I owe you one.” 

“Actually, you owe me a cool six hundred,” Abby answered. “But who’s counting.” 

Brooke winced. The extravagant price of the plane ticket had taken all the money she had borrowed from Maria and Stephanie, and since the only seat left was first class, it had taken some of Abby’s as well. 

“I’ll pay you back.” 

“Seriously, don’t worry about it,” she said frankly. “Dad will just think I went a little crazy at the mall.” 

Squeezing her friend’s shoulder, Brooke’s eyes shone with gratefulness. “Despite everything,” she managed.

Visibly uncomfortable, Abby shook her head, not letting her finish. Rising, she held up an arm. “Please don’t get mushy on me,” she said valiantly. “You’re going to get SAM back. Please don’t remind me.” 

Still, when Brooke threw her arms around her for a final squeeze, Abby hugged her back. 

“Okay…” With a shared smile at Christelle, she nodded companionably. “You don’t seem the hugging type.” 

Christelle rose grudgingly to her feet, once again sticking her Gameboy into her back pocket. “I can make exceptions,” she said, and then awkwardly pulled her in to pat her back, a guyish kinda slap. Brooke resisted the urge to laugh. 

“Thanks,” she said sincerely, squeezing her on the shoulder, and threw a look back at Rebecca. The other girl was still twenty feet away, talking animatedly. “I’ll see you. Tell Rebecca thanks.”

“Sure thing.” 

Hesitating, Brooke took one last look at Sam’s friends. 

With a deep breath in, she turned, and headed for the security line, directed by an airport officer to a queuing line of people removing their shoes. Grabbing a plastic bin, she tossed Stephanie’s jacket into it and reached down, untying her shoelaces. 

It was orderly and sane and exactly what she needed. 

She was fussing with her belt when she heard a rather shrill screech that sounded like a weird version of her name. Standing up, Brooke offered the man behind her an apologetic smile as she took a step forward, glancing over her shoulder curiously.

She stiffened when she realized Rebecca was sprinting toward her. 

“Rebecca-“ 

Immediately Rebecca plowed into the line, skidding to a stop in front of her. 

“Excuse me, Ma’am,” said a security officer. “There’s a line-“ 

Focus solely on Brooke, Rebecca paid no attention. “You’re not getting on this plane!” she snapped, reaching for her wrist. Her eyes looked fairly demonic. 

It frightened her. Brooke yanked her hand away. “Yes I am!” 

“Rebecca what the hell are you doing?!” Abby snapped jogging up beside her. 

“Ma’am, step OUT of the line!” The security officer was clearly moving from annoyed to livid, and Rebecca cast her a panicked glance, before she once again grabbed hold of Brooke’s arm, and with a surprisingly strong grip, yanked her out of her place in line. 

“What the hell!?” Brooke snapped, trying to regain her footing and glare at Rebecca at the same time. “Rebecca?!” 

“Look, I’m sorry, but you can’t get on the plane!” Rebecca once again reached for her, but Brooke had the good sense to pull back just in time. 

“Yes, I am!” Brooke was rapidly losing patience. 

“Rebecca, I know you’re jealous of her, but dear GOD get a clue!” 

“Oh, FUCK you, Abby!” Rebecca screeched. 

They were rapidly causing a scene, and Brooke, through the corner of her eye, saw security headed their way. “Rebecca, I really need you to let me go-“ 

“Okay, everyone needs to calm down,” Christelle began, trying to pull on Rebecca’s hand. 

“You don’t GET IT,” Rebecca snapped, shrugging her off, and grabbing hold of Brooke’s lapel. 

Brooke decided very quickly that she was not into Rebecca’s complete descent into insanity. The security guards were drawing weapons and missing her flight because she was stuck in Airport Jail wasn’t an option. 

“Rebecca!” she snapped, grabbing hold of Rebecca’s elbow and pushing her away from the crowded line of airport passengers who were all staring. “What are you doing?” 

“Keeping you from getting on that airplane,” Rebecca answered, but she was rapidly losing her resolve. Face mottled with red, she tugged almost comically on her shirt. 

“Why!?” 

“Because the crazy girl said not to!” 

“Who!?” 

And that was when she heard her. Over the bull horn. An unmistakable Southern accent. Screeching. 

“THERE SHE IS! BROOKIEEE!” 

In disbelief, Brooke whirled. A bleached blonde woman seated beside a uniformed airport worker in a white security cart, careened toward her, with wild eyes and fur flying every which way, like some demented version of the Snow Queen of Narnia. 

“Oh, my GOD,” Brooke breathed, frozen in shock. “Is that Mary Cherry?!” 

Dropping her shirt, Rebecca crossed her arms, shoulders slumping. “I hate you all,” she muttered. “Just for the record.” 

“What the hell is Mary Cherry doing in Chicago?!” 

“BROOKE!” 

Head jerking back, Brooke’s mouth dropped open when she recognized Harrison John, sprinting towards her, alongside Maria and Stephanie of all people, nearly plowing over a little old lady in their haste to get to her. 

What the hell?!

“THERE SHE IS!” Maria looked incredibly dramatic, as she stopped in a flamboyant poise and pointed theatrically at her. “Stop her!” 

“What the hell is going on!?” she heard Abby screech. 

“What the fuck?” Christelle breathed. 

Feeling oddly like a fox being chased down by hounds, Brooke didn’t have it in her to run, as she whirled again, this time to focus on the commotion causing Mary Cherry and her cart from hell. It bore down on her at full speed, and frozen with the image of Mary Cherry, her maniacal grin, and her megaphone, Brooke thought she was going to die. 

The cart screeched to a stop just inches from Abby’s foot. Abby yelped, skidding out of the way, grabbing hold of Rebecca and nearly climbing on top of her. 

“Brookie!” Mary Cherry’s eyes were eerily wide. Megaphone once again rising to her mouth, she shouted, nearly burst Brooke’s eardrums, “WE FOUND HER. OPERATION CARPET MUNCHER IS COMPLETE!” 

“Operation Carpet…Harrison-OOMPH!” Brooke turned, just in time to break Harrison’s winded sprint, as the slender boy nearly ran her over, arms wrapping around her to steady himself, nearly plowing them both into Mary Cherry’s cart. “Harrison? Stephanie – what the hell is going on?!” 

Stephanie held up a finger, trying to catch her breath first. “We… at the party… she came… you left… Where’s my jacket?!” Eyes searching the security line, Stephanie noticed the downy jacket still sitting in the conveyor belt, inching for the X-Ray machine and yelped, scrambling for it. 

Brooke was too blindsided to pay much attention. “Wait… Harrison? What is she talking about?” 

“Oh, MAH GOD ya’ll…” Mary Cherry looked immensely pleased with herself, lowering herself from the cart. “I haven’t had this much fun since I convinced Mama to buy that little African Village for me so I could dress up them little kids!” 

Harrison’s fingers gripped her shoulders, brown eyes darkening with concerned. “Are you okay?!” he breathed. “I told you I should have come with you!” 

“No, I’m fine!” she said quickly, dismissing his concern with a quick squeeze of his hands. “What’s going on?! How did you get here?!” 

He hesitated, and Maria threw herself against his side, a wide smile on her face. “What, you didn’t think I’d let her leave us behind, did you? We’re invested!”

Her? 

Nothing was making sense. Heart beating furiously, Brooke couldn’t even bring herself to think that-

“Sam! We found her!” 

Oh, God.

It couldn’t… 

Jerking toward the sound of the voice, Brooke’s heart jolted, and she felt dizzy, overcome with warring emotions that made her too overwhelmed to comprehend… 

There was a very sweaty, very out-of-breath Carmen, hand on her hip, coming to a stop and nearly hyperventilating. “Cramp!” Carmen wheezed. “Cramp!” 

And behind her, looking worried and focused and tired and sweaty and absolutely beautiful, was Sam. 

Considering her determined, obsessive focus on getting back into the same state as the girl coming toward her, Brooke weakly decided it was completely in line with the events of the past day and a half to discover that she couldn’t move. 

What she could do, was stare, drink in the image with a hungry, shameless need, unable to speak for the furious knot of emotion that locked into her throat. She wasn’t breathing, and then suddenly she was, chest rising and falling so fast she realized she was panting. 

And still, she couldn’t move. When brown eyes finally caught hers, she felt a burst of emotion inside of her so powerful it nearly brought her to her knees. 

“Sam.” It was just a whisper, but it was all she could manage. 

Sam saw her, and she broke from her jog when her steps faltered, taking her in, taking it all in. And then suddenly, there came a fierce look of resolve in those deep dark features and she sprinted coming toward her so fast, until she was there, inches away from her. 

“Sam…” 

There was a moment, a wonderful moment that lasted where she could feast on that face and reassure herself that this was REAL. 

And then of course, Sam had to ruin it all by balling up her stupid little fist and pounding it into her shoulder. 

“OW!” Her gentle wonder broke into a flood of anger, jerking back to rub at her bruised skin. “What the hell, Sam?! What was that for!?” 

A shaking finger was suddenly shoved into her face. 

“Where the HELL do you get off LEAVING me when I got off A FRIGGIN PLANE?!” Sam was livid. “I braved a fucking SORORITY party for you and YOU WEREN’T EVEN THERE!” The skinny finger jabbed into her collarbone. “And then I had to have Mary Cherry FLY her ass down to pick me up to FLY us to Chicago and then when we finally get here REBECCA tells me you’re getting ready to get your ass ON ANOTHER PLANE! What the HELL is wrong with you?! Do you realize what I went through?!”

She blinked the words refusing to make sense, and then when they did, her eyes widened and her mouth opened. 

“What you went through?! Do you have an idea what I went through!? Listen, Sam – do you think spending all morning in the company of your ex- not that she’s not nice-“ 

“Brooke!” 

“What?!” 

Sam’s eyes glittered, as stepped forward and palmed the sides of her face. “Shut up.” Before Brooke could form another word, strong hands wrapped around her neck and pulled, and then a hot mouth was moving hungrily against her lips: a possessive, passionate, desperate kiss. 

The polarity was too much. Her mind was splintered. She was lost and completely out of her element, and for a moment, she felt nothing but shock. 

But Sam’s lips were intimately exploring her own and that lithe body pressed against her, and just like that, when she moaned, Brooke was lost completely. Her eyes immediately fluttered closed, and after taking a ragged breath, she slid open palms over strong shoulders and over Sam’s lithe figure, bringing her in tighter to sweep her tongue over a succulent bottom lip.

She heard a whimper, buried into her mouth. It broke her. Sucking in a sob soaked breath, she tightened her embrace, unwilling to relinquish any space. 

“What are you doing here?!” she whispered against soft lips, pulling back slightly as she opened her eyes. 

Sam had tears in her eyes. “Why were you leaving!?” she responded, almost hysterically, hands grasping hold of Brooke’s shirt, clawing them in bunches in her fists. “I feel like I’ve been chasing you forever!” 

“I was coming home,” Brooke answered, heart full with overwhelming sincerity, hooking her arms together behind Sam’s back, forehead tilting against hers. “I’ll always come home to you, Sammy.”

She saw a beautiful expression on a beautiful face, and there was no fear. There was nothing but acceptance and finally, FINALLY, belief. 

Fingers reached up, and knuckles skimmed against her cheek lovingly. “What the hell am I going to do with you?” Sam whispered gruffly. 

“I don’t know,” she breathed, her voice a little high pitched, shrieky. “I’m so messed up, Sammy.” 

“I know.” 

“I’m gonna keep screwing up.” 

“I know.” 

“But I’m going to try not to,” she promised, suddenly scared again. “Because I love you.” 

And Sammy just smiled, and her thumb pressed against her mouth. “I know,” she whispered. “I am so in love with you.” 

In the end, for all the complications, it was that easy. 


	19. Epilogue: How To Save A Life

Despite everything, Sam still has nightmares. 

They're always the same, and it's what makes them worse. She knows what is coming, the second she wakes up in that dream, in that stupid red dress, nearly tripping on her awkward heels, following after Brooke with tears in her eyes. 

"I didn't WANT this," Brooke always tells her, in this horribly hoarse voice, and Sam feels the brush of her soft fingers against hers, squeezing hard, before Brooke lets her go just as quickly. 

She always tries to get her to stop, and she's never fast enough, and about this time, she knows what's going to happen, because it's happened hundreds of times before. 

Brooke walks away, head down, getting away from her as fast as she can. Sam sees the lights, one second too late. All she can do is shout futilely. 

There are no tires screeching. No, that bitch Nicole actually SPEEDS UP, and then Brooke's screams burn a hole inside her before there's the sickening squelch.

In that terrible, terrifying moment, there's only silence, before Sam trips on her dress and doesn't get to Brooke first. She's the third person to stand over the muddled, bloody mess of Brooke, and she collapses to her knees, so afraid and so scared and there's just so much blood-

She hears voices screaming and there's talk of 9-1-1 and ambulances, and Sam always has kept her head in an emergency. She delivered their baby. 

She knows what to do. 

She can't do it. All she can do is stare through burning eyes. She can't speak, and when Harrison falls down beside her, she suddenly comes to life. She screams at him, utters so much foul language she actually STUNS him, and blames him for all of it. She won't let him touch her, because at that moment, Sam claims Brooke, broken, bloody Brooke, as her own. She loves her more than Harrison ever could, and Sam is terrified and heartbroken and panicking, but she knows that's true. 

Sirens bleed into her senses, and then she hears the words "She's not breathing", just as she sees bloody fingers twitch, and then stop. 

She always wakes up with a strangled scream clogged in her throat. 

\-- 

It's the middle of the night, and it's too quiet. 

Sam's plastered with sweat. She's clammy, cold. 

Breathing hard, she comes to her senses. She's in her bed. In her house. It's not junior prom, but Christmas break, and Brooke is breathing, just not in her room. 

Heart pounding, Sam swallows, trying to calm herself. 

It's not enough. 

The sweat is drying quickly, and it's making her shiver, so she's quick as she throws off her covers and heads barefooted to the bathroom door. 

Sam had promised her mother that she wouldn't do this. Her mother insisted they at least maintain decency, and ordered the bathroom door locked during sleeping hours. 

Sam is nineteen years old, and suffering the effects of a very traumatic nightmare. 

She unlocks the door. 

By now, Brooke is unphased. She's waiting for her, slender arm holding the covers up, muted loving expression on her sleepy face. 

Just seeing her makes Sam feel better. 

Finally able to breathe, she slides between crisp sheets. Brooke smells like Listerine and strawberries, an interesting, if minty combination, and Sam likes it. Nuzzling her nose against Brooke's collarbone, she breathes it in. 

"You're shaking." Brooke's voice is low and rough in its sleepiness. Sam thinks it sounds like velvet would sound, if you could actually HEAR velvet. 

"You died," she tells her frankly, whispering against her skin. "Again." 

There's a beat, and then arms pull her even closer.

"Jane is going to kill us if she finds us like this," Brooke says, a beat later, and then presses a soft kiss against Sam's crown, like a mother kissing a child goodnight. 

It feels a little too chaste for Sam's liking. 

Brooke is always tense around Jane, now. When Sam told her about having to tell Jane the reality of what they were when Jane found out she was on a private jet bound for Chicago, Brooke had nearly fainted. 

Sam won’t ever tell Brooke, but she thinks it’s because of Brooke’s abandonment issues. She’s afraid that Jane won’t love her anymore, and privately, Sam’s spoken to her mother about it. 

Jane has assured her that she won’t ever stop loving Brooke, and will eventually come to terms with the idea that her two daughters don’t have quite the sisterly attitude that she initially wanted. Jane is apparently terrified that now that they are getting along entirely too well, they’re only going to be making the eventual fighting worse, and heaven forbid what will happen if they ever break up. 

Sam thinks they’ve given each other too much shit to ever really even try to break up now, and while no one is talking civil partnerships or an elopement to Canada, she doesn’t think she’ll ever be free of Brooke. She doesn’t want to be. 

“You wanted us to be a team,” Sam reminded her. Jane blanched at the thought. 

“I need to be more careful what I wish for,” she grumbled, but has since made a point of being more affectionate than ever to Brooke, reminding her that she loves her to the point of stifling her girlfriend. 

Sam feels slightly ignored but still finds the whole thing a little amusing, despite the fact that she was subjected to ‘the talk’ with Mike. It’s weird with Mike, because the shift in her relationship with Brooke has now resulted in Mike taking a more active interest in one on one time with her. On her breaks at home she’s been subjected to golfing with him, a really weird fishing trip, and fixing the car, and Sam openly wonders why on earth Mike thinks being Brooke’s girlfriend equals being his son. 

Still, Sam has garnered enough affection for Mike to be secretly happy with the arrangement. He’ll never be her father, but she will grudgingly admit that he’s a great father to Brooke and Mac. He’s also the one that convinced Jane that allowing Brooke and Sam to share a room in Italy would not result in some sort of devastating meltdown. 

Sam has decided she loves Mike. 

Pulling away from her thoughts, she takes in the angular face of Brooke, and the colored eyes glittering like jewels in the moonlight. 

Without a word she reaches up and presses her mouth against Brooke's. Her kiss isn't chaste at all. 

She hears and feels Brooke's audible sigh against her mouth, and her stomach drops inside of her, making her warm inside. 

After a semester apart, it's still new, to be able to reach up and slide her knuckles across Brooke's cheek, tilt her head just so, until she can shift and plunge a warm tongue inside Brooke's mouth. To do so illicits a kind of thrill, and in the aftermath of her recurring nightmare, she needs it. 

Fingers cup her chin, and Sam's knee presses in between Brooke's thighs, until their hips are pressed together. 

Brooke's kisses slow, and after a lingering peck, Brooke leans back against the pillows, studying her intently. 

"I wish I knew how to make them stop," she whispers, fingers threading through Sam's dark brown strands. 

She says it so lovingly that it causes another twist inside of her, and suddenly vulnerable, Sam opts for a cheerful, distant tone. "Try not to get run over again." 

A flash of a frown twitches on Brooke's lips. She's not amused. 

Sam closes her eyes in mutual frustration, and falls onto her back, staring up at the ceiling. 

She feels a shift of weight, and now sees Brooke leaning over her. 

"You know why I ran away from you that night." Brooke's stare is unrelenting, and Sam immediately regrets her new position, because now there's nowhere else to look. "I told you why." 

Her smile is weak. "Because the thought of falling in love with me was so horrific you couldn't stand it?" 

Brooke's brow rises. Immediately she lifts her hand and flicks Sam's nose. Hard. 

"OW!" she yelps and is immediately shushed with the same offending hand over her mouth. Palms over her injured nostril, Sam manages a good glare. "That hurt,” she manages to mumble. 

"Good," Brooke tells her, taking the opportunity to straddle her, looking entirely too triumphant as she crosses her arms. "You deserved it." 

"No one deserves to get flicked, Brooke." Still, she doesn’t argue the position they’re in, and ignoring her stung nose, she places palms on Brooke’s bare thighs. Brooke’s skin is criminally soft, and Sam thinks it’s a little unfair, despite the fact that Brooke spends more time moisturizing than Sam spends in the shower. 

Hands cover her roaming fingers before they ascend too high, and mildly annoyed, Sam obediently gives her girlfriend’s face her attention. 

The weight of Brooke on her hips is comforting, but the look on Brooke’s face indicates she has something in mind other than one last romp in the sack before getting on an airplane. 

“What?” she says, suspicious. 

“It wasn’t you,” Brooke says finally, reaching up to draw her bangs away from her forehead, sliding them behind her ear. Sam is oddly distracted by the movement. It’s so achingly Brooke. “It was me. I wasn’t ready for it. I was severely messed up, and with everything, it was just too hard to handle-“ 

“It was like you got run over by a truck,” Sam finishes, and her head falls back in contemplation. “Wow. The irony.” 

Brooke sighs dramatically. “You ARE the writer.” 

Sam shrugs, but squeezes Brooke’s thighs meaningfully. “I get it.” There’s a tense feeling inside of her that tells her she still has trouble with how it made her feel. “Really. I do, Brooke. It doesn’t change the fact that I saw it literally happen. I used to think it was bad watching you starve yourself to death, but to see you literally plowed over in the suckiest example of tragic irony-“ 

A palm landed squarely on her mouth, mushing her words together. 

“I think we’re in general agreement that that night sucked ass.” Brooke says matter-of-factly, when Sam glares at her from behind her gag. “And in the months that followed I remained determined to utterly fuck everything up with my behavior and pushing you away.” Sam’s brow arches. Brooke is cursing. This is serious. “I hate that I wasn’t there for you when you needed me and I hate that I kept making promises to you and kept breaking them because I was an emotional recluse, but it doesn’t change what happened.” 

When Sam doesn’t respond, Brooke finally lifts her hand off her face. There is a moment of charged silence, and Sam finally exhales, bringing her hands to rest behind her head. “I’ll bite. What happened?” 

“You saved my life.” There it is again. That phrase, that Brooke likes to say over and over again. 

In retaliation, she pinches Brooke's thigh. 

There is a small hiss of pain, and she receives a light slap on the shoulder. 

“I’m serious!” Brooke says, and she is serious. Sam can tell. 

“Brooke, how the hell did I save your life?” Sam says, because even though Brooke has tried to explain it to her, she’s never quite gotten it. Something about forcing Brooke outside her comfort zone and making her not be happy with who she is, and Sam supposes that’s all true because it’s the same for her. And Sam will gladly take any credit for keeping Brooke alive and well, but she would really like to find out HOW the hell she did it, because then maybe she can keep on doing it. 

Brooke seems to attract unlucky conditions. Sam figures it’s best to be prepared. 

“It’s the little things,” Brooke tells her, shifting on top of her, slouching a little. “Like when you got me Lil’ Bleu.” 

“You mean when you stared at me like I was insane?” 

“I loved that fish, Sam. It gave me something to take care of. Something that I was responsible for. I was lost and feeling sorry for myself in that stupid hospital room and when I was alone I had that fish. And in a weird way, it made me feel like I had you.” 

She’s touched. She laughs, somehow uncomfortable. “Well, I’m glad I didn’t get you the big ole’ Toblerone bar like I was originally thinking.” 

Brooke refuses to be dissuaded. “And when you came after me on Spring Break.” 

After she had slept with Abby. Sam is absolutely thrilled to be reminded of that. “Peachy.” 

“You were really really pissed at me, Sam. And I understood why. But I was alone and miserable and though you clearly hated me, you came after me anyway. I mean, you drove me crazy with how insane you were being, but… you came.” 

Sam’s slightly pervy intentions skews the memory, and she fights the urge to agree that yes, she did come that week. Several times. 

“You make me want to be better than I am. You make me feel complete. And though I’ve got a lot of growing up to do and a lot of issues to work out in therapy, which, by the way, doesn’t KILL you,” Brooke adds pointedly, and Sam makes a show of rolling her eyes. “I’m not scared anymore.” Brooke's hands smooth up her arms, until she’s tented over Sam, and her colored eyes look into hers with a heated gaze that makes Sam suddenly breathless. “Which means,” she enunciates. “I’m not running from anything anymore.” 

Sam’s palms slide gently up the arms on either side of her, curling around her shoulders. “So no more getting run over?” 

“Not if I can help it, anyway,” Brooke agrees, and there are no guarantees, but the long-winded saccharine filled speech does make Sam feel better. 

She’s such a sap. 

It’s not going to stop the nightmares, but Sam figures that’s because she’s got some growing up to do as well. 

Still, despite the fact that they bring out the worst in each other, the fact remains they also bring out the best in each other. 

Sam considers that a fair trade. 

Curling her fingers into the nape of Brooke’s dirty blonde hair, she muses, “I don’t know how the hell I fell for a girl who takes her romantic cues from a Tom Cruise movie.” 

“Oh, shut up, Sam,” Brooke tells her, and then she does, because Brooke’s elbows bend, and suddenly a lush mouth is settling on top of hers hungrily. The kiss Brooke gives her is wet and lewd, and its less than innocent intentions are clear. 

Sighing raggedly when Brooke’s mouth tears from her own to spread hotly from her jaw to her ear, Sam’s fingers impulsively clench into a tangle of blonde strands. 

“I want you,” Brooke whispers; heavy, hot, and the sound of those words, coupled with the hot breath against her ear makes her shiver with sudden arousal and need. “I want to be inside you.” 

Groaning, Sam is only too happy to oblige. 

\-- 

Plastered against the hot, naked, sweaty body of Brooke, Sam decides there’s nothing in the world like this feeling. She’s tired, and though she’s sated, her blood is still drumming inside of her, rendering her unable to sleep. 

Brooke, on the other hand, appeared to be completely relaxed, and her eyelids flutter as she snuggles into Sam’s arms, tightening her grip and shifting her position, clearly ready for sleep.

Sam knows that she should probably get up. Jane has taken to checking their rooms religiously in the morning, though Sam thinks the entire idea is just twisted and fruitless. What would be worse? Not knowing if they had done it all night or coming in and surprising the shit out of them and traumatizing the whole family with the resulting nakedness? 

She stays put. 

Reaching forward, she trails her fingertip across Brooke’s brow. “Can you believe this time tomorrow we’ll be in the air, headed for Italy?” 

Brooke mumbles something, trying and failing to be clear in her response. 

“I want to see that fountain,” Sam decides. “You know? That big one full of tourists that everyone goes to? It’s supposed to be romantic and all that? I know it’s cheesy but I want to go. I read in a guidebook that if you throw a coin in it you’re guaranteed to come back to Rome.” 

Brooke’s eyes stay shut. Sam smiles warmly. 

“It’s a deal,” she tells her lover, taking advantage of the fact that Brooke is in obviously no condition to argue. “I also want to ride one of those crazy scooters that Audrey Hepburn and Gregory Peck ride in ‘Roman Holiday’.” 

Lucid, Brooke would have never agreed to that. 

Sam raises her head and rests it on her elbow, and looks down at her sleeping beauty.

In that moment, she’s overcome. 

“Hey Brooke?” she asks and gets a sleepy moan in response. “You saved my life too.” 

She’s right. It’s true. And she finally gets it. It doesn’t solve anything, but just that knowledge is enough to give Sam hope. No matter what happens, she’ll keep trying. 

Staring down at the completely messed up girl in her arms, Sam knows she’s going to be trying for the rest of her life. 

She’s very okay with that.

 

 


End file.
